On the Threshold We All Stood
by ArujeiGo
Summary: On September 13, 2000, the world ended. This is the story of the months leading up to Second Impact, and one man's attempt to unravel the conspiracy that binds the UN, Gehirn, and a group of men known only as "Seele"
1. Prologue I & II

**Prologue: In the Dark I & II**  
><em>Silence, too, has an echo, hollower and longer-lasting than the reverberations of any sound.<em> - Salman Rushdie

_11:37 PM, Sep 10 2000 _  
><em>T-minus 2 days<em>

In the dark, Charles Tallman sat on an unyielding metal chair, waiting for death. He knew he was surrounded, and was a little surprised he was being given this little reprieve. Those rat bastards outside the warehouse he was trapped in knew he was a dead man. Charles knew he was dead. He would die, and everything he had done would come apart and fall into ruin.

He would have wept if he hadn't seen his world collapse once before.

Around him were stacked towers of wooden crates, so rough that to run your hand across a surface would be to pierce your palm with a thousand slivers. Charles did not know what was in them, nor did he really much care. They could contain the livelihood of a dozen families, heirlooms, artifacts, one-of-a-kind works, maybe, the back of his mind thought, even the Ark of the Covenant.

Pulling out a cigarette, noticing only one more was left, Charles reached for his lighter in his breast pocket. He was halfway there before he clenched his hand tight, remembering that he had lost the lighter somewhere in Germany. Patting himself down, he tried to find the book of matches he had taken from the last safehouse. He groped past the cold metal 9mm pistol, somewhat disguised inside his bulky tan trenchcoat, past the notes from the dead man which had gotten him into this doomed endeavor, until he finally picked out the small item with his fingers. He took it out and opened it up, revealing three lonely matches surrounded by empty spaces, their heads purple in the dark. Charles pulled one out and struck it on the outside of the book, then touched it to the tip of his cigarette.

The small pinprick of light gave no respite from the shade within the warehouse. Outside it was near midnight, and what little starlight came through the few high windows only made the gloom darker. Silence surrounded him, with not even the noise of the nearby motorway reaching Charles' mausoleum. Charles idly wondered again why he had come into here in the first place. But he realized that didn't matter. He had seen the tail on his way there, and they were going to eventually come in and kill him.

Charles screwed his eyes shut. He had failed. He had failed Takahiro, he had failed Grigory, he had failed Elena. They were dead, and Charles knew that before the sun rose he would be too. It hurt his chest to think about. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to rage against the injustice of the whole thing.

Instead he took a deep drag on his cigarette, nearly burning his fingers. Holding the cigarette in his mouth, Charles reached into his collar and pulled out the string of beads, looping to a crucifix. He took it from his neck and rubbed the smooth wooden beads with his fingers. In his mind he could see their original owner, whispering her Aves, how she had always wanted him to join her. Slowly he counted the beads by touch, running them over the knuckles of his right hand. He tried to remember the mysteries to think on, but nothing came to him.

Gripping the beads tight, Charles closed his eyes, and thought about how he had ended up in this little slice of Hell in the first place.

* * *

><p>In the dark, Lorenz Kiel glanced at the grandfather clock that dominated his study - an old heirloom from the 18th century. It was just past 1 AM. He checked the book he was reading - the <em>Criticón<em> of Gracián- for how much further it was to the next chapter. Deciding it was too far to attempt that evening, Kiel slipped an old bookmark between the pages before placing the book down on his desk. Kiel ran a hand over the embossed leather cover, feeling the valleys and protrusions on the surface of the book, as well as the alien metallic feel of the two clasps on the edge of the cover meant to keep the book shut. He had done it a thousand times to a thousand texts, but each time he felt something new, something undiscovered until that moment. It was one of his few unadulterated pleasures.

Kiel's study was completely shadowed, the only illumination coming from the lamp set to his right. Beyond that the doorway to the cavernous library gaped. The mansion had gone quiet some hours ago, as all the servants except his few guards had left for their homes around Berlin.

Kiel sat up in his chair, his body protesting at the movement. He had spent too long reading, but Gracián had always appealed to him, especially now, in his twilight years. He could appreciate the man's wisdom, his insight into the essentially tragic mode that human affairs operated under. No matter how many preferred comedies, Gracián knew that all mankind rejoiced under the shadow of Death - the One who destroys all Happiness, as that collator of the _1001 Nights_ called him. But his joy of reading was falling away from Kiel he was rapidly going blind, the world losing its resolution and color day by day, dissolving into a milky whiteness.

It was not the only problem Kiel had in relation to his aging body. It had seemed to him a cruel joke played by what he knew was an uncaring universe that each moment he came closer to his goal, another part of his body would give out. He had already replaced his heart and kidneys, and some of his doctors were even contemplating testing out the most experimental devices from Gehirn to save, or replace, his lungs. He had suffered through the indignities, though. They were nothing compared to the glory he would have in the world without the self.

Kiel picked up a small digital recorder and, closing his eyes, ran his hands over its surface. It brought nothing of the tactile pleasure his edition of Gracián did, but every evening for the last few months Kiel had been performing his ritual on this device, then discussing whatever piqued his interest that night. He did not know precisely why he was doing it, but something in it appealed to him. If everything went well (and why shouldn't it?) there would never be another person to find or listen to it. Perhaps in some distant time a visiting race would find it, and through this machine gain insight into the architect for Man's apotheosis.

Two days. Two days before a sample of his DNA would be combined with Adam. If he had interpreted the Scrolls correctly, Kiel would hold the power of Instrumentality at that point, as his flesh was joined to the Progenitor. Then the world as it was, decaying, dying, fraying, falling apart at every seam, would end, and all things, yes, all manner of things, would be well. Not that he had told any of the council this. They would have tried to make themselves the donor. And he could not allow that.

He placed the machine down on the desk, and pressed the record button. As he pressed the play button for his record player, he thought that perhaps it was his pride that was tickled. The sound of Wagner began to fill the room. Kiel cleared his throat.

"Our civilization is haunted by death. Faustian Man, who has attained the utmost heights of knowledge, is confronted at last with the true face of Mephistopheles, and is struck dumb with fear. He, who has conquered all things, is at last conquered..."


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 – In the Autumn of the Age of Man**

_February 28, 2000_  
><em>T-minus 198 days<em>

I woke up the same way I did every morning. Five minutes before my alarm was set to go off, I opened my eyes and checked the clock. 5:25 AM stared back at me in its deep red color. I couldn't remember the last time I had been woken up by the clock. Shutting off the alarm, I pushed myself out of bed, then turned around and made the bed back up. Outside the window the world was still dark – the sun wasn't to be up for at least another hour. My eyes pass over the old rosary on the bedside table, like they have every other day.

I walked into my bathroom, and took a hot shower to dispel the last vestiges of sleep. After toweling myself dry, I stared into the half steamed up mirror. I looked all of my 53 years. My hair was still there, but each day, more and more strands retreated from my temples and turned from red to a dull silver. I shaved, taking care not to cut myself, but ensuring nothing remained. It was the culture of my profession to have as much control over my life as possible, even down to something as little as facial hair.

After that, I opened the cabinet behind the mirror and took down a clear orange bottle. With practiced ease I unscrewed the top, shook out a pale green pill, placed it in my mouth and swallowed. The anti-depressant had been prescribed for me several years ago. I didn't much care for the bitter taste, though.

In the mirror one could see my body from the waist up clearly. The nicely cut muscles of my youth had lost a good part of their definition, and a thin layer of fat covered my stomach. All the weight training in the world couldn't stop the march of time.

By 6 AM I was standing at the front door of my house. The barest tinge of purple had crept into the eastern sky, and most of the other homes on the street were still dark. As I watched the sky I could hear little beyond my own breathing. A truck turned the corner onto the street to my right, different from the usual one, but I paid no attention to it. Just so long as the routine continued. Newspapers began to come flinging out of its windows to each house. Mine bounced on the ground until it rolled to my feet.

As I walked back inside I passed two doors. They opened into what used to be my children's rooms, empty now save for the furniture, and untouched since the two had left. Peter had last spoken to me two years earlier, and I hadn't heard from Agnes since my birthday the year before. I didn't really mind, though. I told myself that I had never really connected to them.

At 6:15 I was sitting down at my kitchen table, and began eating a breakfast of fruit, cereal, toast, and black coffee, and opened up the day's copy of the Army Times. Like all other days, I read the news, and found it useless. On the front page I eyed various items of national and international interest. CV-76 was nearing the end of its construction in San Diego with only a few final checks to be made, the Okinawans reiterated (once more) their dislike of the Marine Corps, and the research consortium Gehirn had come to an agreement with the VA concerning their groundbreaking artificial limbs and organs. As I read, all I heard was the rustle of the paper and the quiet tock of the black cat clock on the wall - a favored keepsake of my mother that my wife had adored as well, after the former's death.

Once Yomiko became attached to it, I had been unable to think about discarding it.

6:30, I rolled up the paper to finish later, put on a gray coat, grabbed my immaculate black suitcase filled with confidential nothings, and headed out into the day.

This day could have been exchanged for 10,000 other days. Ever since I had come to the Washington area in '90, I had put myself into this regimented existence. It is easy to stop thinking and remembering if you live on auto-pilot. And that was what I so desperately needed.

7:00 AM, I arrived at Langley. Parking was little difficulty. As I walked in the door to headquarters, the bronze bust of the elder Bush stared blankly across the lobby at me. Around me a few other suits and ties trickled in and out. The woman at the front desk smiled at me as I approached. She was a secretary, and I didn't remember sleeping with her, so I guessed she was new. But I had to admit, she was quite good-looking. Blonde hair in a high bun, nice smile, a good shade of lipstick to look both professional and attractive. I showed her my ID card.

"Good morning, Inspector Tallmann," she said. She reached under her desk, showing off her impressive décolletage, and sitting back up, handed me a manila folder. "This is from Sub-Director Silvestre, sir."

"Thank you, Miss..." I tried to find her name somewhere.

"Valerie. Have a good day, sir." She looked back at her computer screen and continued typing. I went off toward my section of the building. As I walked deeper into the building, I could tell who had arrived that morning, and who had stayed overnight. Electric lighting illuminated the halls and rooms, and this early in the morning it gave the people I passed by a sickly pallor to their skin, and overemphasized the black rings under their eyes. As I passed by one of the analysis centers, I noticed one young man in particular, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie loosened, and in his hands he held a book of what looked like Arabic. He mouthed several phrases silently to himself, his forehead dotted with sweat. I wondered what he was doing, but I decided not to interrupt his concentration.

I could only imagine what had led that boy to where he was, trying to learn a language completely foreign from his own experience. But ever since Desert Storm the intelligence agencies had seen an upswing in political interest in the Middle East, even beyond the fact of the proximity of some countries to the old Soviet borders. Wasn't my field though. I had been made redundant once the Wall came down.

As I approached my section of the Old Headquarters, the ashen smell of burnt coffee assaulted my nostrils. In all my time at Langley I could remember the coffee maker being replaced twice, but never to any positive effect. I began to pass by my immediate colleagues' offices, with their names printed on black placards and attached to their wood-paneled doors. I walked by a few of them and gave them a monotone "Morning," before I reached my own office. As I took out my key I stopped for a moment. Almost ten years I had spent in the room, and yet I never really remembered it after I left.

Shaking my head, I unlocked the handle and let myself in before closing the door again. The room was dark before my left hand automatically hit the light switch. At once bright white light flooded the space, illuminating the gray-white walls. In front of me was my wooden desk, with my office computer on top. Behind that sat a black chair. To the left and right were bookcases, filled with volumes I had never touched. They had been there when I had made the office mine, and they would be there when I left. A fan hung from the ceiling, for when the air conditioning wasn't enough for the summer.

Putting the folder and my briefcase on the desk, I took off my coat and sat down. I opened up the folder and pulled out the sheet of paper within – Silvestre wanted a meeting later that day to discuss the latest budget proposals.

I turned on the computer when there was a knock on the door. "Come in," I said. The door opened, and a man, about 20 years my junior, with glasses and his jacket on, came in. He handed me a stack of papers from across my desk.

"These are for you, sir," he said.

I looked at the pile. Budget sheets. The same material I looked at every day. I then looked at the man. "Thank you," I replied, and turned away from him. He took that as his cue to leave. After he left I checked the clock, not even 8 in the morning. I pulled out my newspaper and opened it to where I had left off.

Getting deeper into the news, I saw that a Nunn-Lugar site had been set up in Albania to help the government there decommission a Hoxha-era chemical weapons plant. The article made a point to mention the poor state of affairs for the government of Albania, and how the administration of justice had fallen to pre-Communist _kanuns_, leading to the re-emergence of the blood feud. In another article latest budget from Congress was discussed. For another year the military budget would increase, not as much as it had the previous decade, but anyone could see that the allotment was outpacing inflation.

Turning to the opinion pages, I saw a short piece written by an Air Force Lieutenant Colonel, one James Mackey. It read:

_What Are We To Do?  
><em>_A Call to Discussion_

_The United States has reached a point in history that can only scarce be compared to previous ages. Our country is richer, has more allies across the world, is held in higher regard diplomatically, than at any point before now. And now, when it is easier than ever before to travel across the globe, to communicate across oceans and deserts, American culture and products have reached every part of the world. But where does that leave us, the military?_

_If we have truly reached the end of history, as some have claimed in the years since the fall of the Berlin Wall and the Soviet Bloc, what is the use of the best-trained, best-equipped fighting force the world has ever seen? Europe has been integrating between its states since the last war – another conflict on the scale of the 40's cannot even be contemplated anymore. With the break-up of the Soviet Union, no longer does Western Europe have to fear an invasion from the East. And yet we build up our forces to fight a Warsaw Pact. Even a nuclear confrontation between the United States and Russia seems to be a relic of the past. Can anyone really imagine the new acting President, Vladimir Putin, pressing the red switch over a diplomatic incident with President Clinton? And yet we build up our nuclear stocks to fight that exact same scenario. Something has gone wrong._

_What are we to do? It seems such a simple question, but it cuts to the heart of the current confusion our military is facing. Although ultimately our civilian leaders will order us to do what they need done, we, as military men and women, can influence their decision making. We can stop ordering weapons that would have worked 10 or 15 years ago. We can stop making battle plans that were obsolete after Vietnam. We can stop assuming that any conflict we will encounter will be like Desert Storm, or even the recent campaign over Serbia._

_What are we to do? In the end, we will have to do what we have always done – protect and defend the United States and its interests. But we must do it intelligently._

What were we to do? I would have thought about that, before I glanced at the stack of papers that I needed to go through. Taking a deep breath I began running through them.

Budget reports. Contrary to the expectations of many outside the intelligence community, the various agencies, including the CIA, have very good records for where their money goes. It was my duty to make sure that the requests for funds made by various departments in the U.S. and by agents and handlers abroad were reasonable and within tolerable limits.

The only problem was that many of the requests were classified. I could see how much the individual wanted, but not why. And sometimes I couldn't even see that much. To my colleagues, it was an inevitable aspect of working in a confidential setting. To me, it was an insult.

For the next few hours I read through blacked-out paragraphs and accounting sheets, stamping "Approved" at the bottom of each triplicate form, then placing it into my outbox. Rarely, another member of the department would come in to either take the completed forms or give me more material to look through. I never made an effort to get to know the people under me, though I heard them speak in whispers about me. They even continued the rumor that I still had a hidden bank account from my time in Europe, and that was why I had been disgraced. If only it had been that simple.

I had just signed my name to a request, made by some handler in Sub-Saharan Africa, when I decided I was going to retire. In a few weeks there would be a wonderful party, probably at the Director's home, as the agency I had given so much to, and done so much for, would express its sorrow at seeing me go, but would be happy for me. The higher-ups would clap my back, stories would be told in incredulous voices about my exploits in Japan and Central Europe, and the new blood would see that this job could have a happy ending.

I would smile, drink, laugh, flirt with some of the better looking secretaries I had seen around, before I gave a heartfelt speech about all the Agency had done for me, thanking everyone for their warm regards. I would leave to great applause, and everyone who was there would consider it a good evening, and a good send-off.

I would then go back home, and shoot myself.

I liked that idea. It was an adequate metaphor for my whole career in the damned spy business. All fake smiles and forced laughs, and then someone dies.

I smiled as I put away the form. Nobody else would get the joke, but that didn't matter. It was going to be just for me.

* * *

><p>"So we'll throw more money at the region?" was the question of Sub-Director Marco Polanco. Polanco was in his late 40's, and his skin was dark and tautly stretched over his bones. His parents had fled the Cuban Revolution in the late 50's, and they had taught their son to hold a grudge against every Leftist group in Latin America.<p>

He directed his question to the other members of the meeting – myself and a few of the important analysts, the other sub-directors, and Silvestre at the head of the table. The room was hazy with smoke from the cigarettes many people had, including myself.

The meeting had been over the recent additions to the CIA's budget made by Congress. The various Sub-Directors needed to find a way to spend it. Polanco's question had been made in response to James Beatty, who had proposed increasing aid to the Pakistani intelligence agency.

"Where else would we send it?" Beatty asked back. "Latin America?"

Polanco hit his hand on the table, "You're damn right! We have allies down south, and they need resources. We've been giving them too little to actually do anything for the past decade!" His eyes scanned the other men. My face remained neutral.

"What are you thinking of, Polanco?" Silvestre asked.

Polanco turned to face him. "Venezuela. I have proof that there is a strong anti-Chavez coalition forming, one that could take him down permanently, and discourage any more parasites like him from trying to steal American capital. But they need funds. And unlike _some_ proposals, these men are demonstrably American allies!"

"If we want the Pakistanis to help us, we need to give them an incentive to! It's not going to happen from the goodness of their hearts!" Beatty replied. But the fuse had been lit, and soon the entire room was filled with the sound of argument as the various sub-directors and major analysts yelled back and forth at each other.

I remained silent; it was only Silvestre standing up and roaring "Silence!" that quieted the other men down.

"I see this isn't going anywhere," Silvestre said, his voice clipped and angry, "so I'm going to ask all of you to leave. Submit your requests for additional funds to my office or Tallmann. You're all dismissed. Get out of here."

With that, the other men filed out of the conference room. I remained seated, as did Silvestre. He had his eyes closed, and was rubbing his temples. When he opened them, his eyes widened when he saw me.

"That didn't go very well," I said. He sighed in response.

"I should have expected something like that. Everyone's pulling for their own pet projects, there's bound to be acrimony if someone says it's unnecessary."

"There's no unity," I said, sucking on the end of my cigarette.

He laughed sadly. "You've got that right." He sighed dolorously. "You ever feel like the Agency just doesn't know what it's doing anymore, Charles?" he said.

I wet my lips before answering. "After a meeting like that, I could see where you're coming from."

"I swear, it's all talk about terrorism and 'non-state actors' and 'economic sabotage' nowadays. Where's the romance in that?" Silvestre leaned forward in his chair. "Say, you've got something you want to talk about?" I nodded. "Alright then, let's go to my office." Standing up, I ground out my cigarette in one of the ashtrays on the table.

We left the conference room and walked towards Silvestre's office in the new headquarters. The building was much nicer than my own, having just been finished the year before. After a few minutes we arrived at the room. It was furnished nicely, with wood furniture, a tasteful carpet, and other accoutrements of a powerful man's office. As Silvestre sat behind the desk, he gestured to one of the leather-upholstered chairs in front of it. "Please, take a seat." I obliged him.

Opening up a drawer in his desk, Silvestre retrieved two cigars, and handed one to me. We lit them, and took a few moments to puff on them. It tasted good, and I told him such. He grinned. "Good to hear," he said, "I paid a lot to get these from Honduras. Higher quality than the Cuban stuff now, and cheaper too."

Silvestre and I had known each other for quite some time. We had both steadily worked our way up through the agency in the 70's, and been engaged in activities dealing with the Soviet Union. But we were in different places. He was the right-hand man of the Agency, and I was a paper-pusher.

"So how's the family, Chuck?" Silvestre asked.

I sucked on the cigar for a moment, letting the sweet smoke fill my mouth and nostrils. "All right. Yours?"

He grinned widely. "Oh you know how it is. Now that they're grown up, it makes you feel real old. You remember my daughter? She's actually getting married in October!"

I was silent for a second. "Congratulations, Sal. You must be very proud."

He leaned back in his chair. "Oh I am. Now, the boy she's marrying... I don't quite think he's good enough for her, but she seems to care for him. And really, what kind of man would be good enough for our daughters, eh?" Sal laughed. "So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I'm going to retire, Sal," I said.

He stopped smiling. "Retirement?" he asked, looking at me skeptically, perhaps hoping for me to budge. "Come on, Chuck, really?"

"Yes. I think it's time for me to step aside for some of the younger men."

Sal frowned, and drummed his fingers on the desk. "Chuck, you're what? 50? 51? You've got plenty of time to give what you can to the Agency. We're not old geezers just yet!"

"53 last September. Sorry Sal, but I'm not feeling as young as you do. All the paperwork's been grinding me down, I have to say."

Sal chuckled and leaned forward, as if he was talking with a fellow conspirator. "Don't I know what you mean. Makes you miss being out in the field, huh? Instead of being cramped in these damn offices. God, how I miss the excitement! We sure as hell haven't found anybody as fun as the Reds yet, have we?"

I suppressed an urge to attack Silvestre at that. "No, we really haven't," I said, my voice level.

Sal sighed and sat back in his chair, and sucked thoughtfully on his cigar. "You Orientalists had a good run, you know. Damn, what I would have given to have had a group of folks like yours!"

The Orientalists. Sal's mention of it opened a stream of memories. Myself and two other men, Takahiro Kaji and Sir David Rukin, working throughout East Asia. We had done some incredible feats, from pinpointing the routes of a sixth of the Soviet sub fleet as they patrolled the Pacific, to cracking the largest Chinese spy ring in Singapore. It had been our loyalty and trust in each other that had helped propel us to the heights of our respective agencies. But it had been many years since I had spoken to either of them.

After some silence, Sal stuck out his hand. I shook it. "It's been a real pleasure. We'll get everything set for you to leave in, say, a month or so, if that's what you want. Just know that we won't advertise it, and if you decide to change your mind there'll be no problems."

I stood up. "You won't need to worry about that, Sal."

With that I left.

* * *

><p><em>March 2, 2000<br>__T-minus 195 days_

Thursday was my day at the shooting range. I hated guns, but some close calls had taught me the necessity of having a weapon. After I left Langley, I would go to a nearby range. Most of the other patrons were police or military, but I received some remarks on my good accuracy with a handgun. I was consistently hitting vital targets at decent distances. Ten years of practice had a point, it seemed.

In addition to that, every few weeks, I was invited to a card game with a few other men. They, like myself, were in the middle range of government service – mid-ranking military types, foreign service officers, et cetera. They were men who did not dictate policy, but had it dictated to them. Like myself, many of their careers had stalled. In suburban basements or badly-lit garages around the D.C. area we would meet, exchange a few perfunctory pleasantries, and then begin complaining about the world that had put its foot down on our necks.

Such was the tenor of the discussion that evening. Myself and three other men sat around a fold-up table, drinking bad beer and listening to music that was terrible even when it was recorded. William Jefferson, a career diplomat, was grumbling about the denial of his request to serve in Western Europe.

"It's bullshit is what it is," he said, before taking a swig of beer. "I know Spanish. My wife knows it. What the hell are we supposed to do in Indonesia? I didn't go to Harvard so I could waste time with cultureless islanders out in the ass-end of nowhere." He studied his cards, and put them down. "Fold."

The man to his left, Major Jiggs, USMC, nodded. "Indonesia, huh? I hear the Aussies have been having a tough time in Timor." Jiggs ran a hand through his cropped hair as he stared at his stack of chips. He picked up a few and threw them in. "Raise." It was my turn now.

"Great, so I can have tea time with hicks if I feel like it. Sounds wonderful." Jefferson played with the wedding ring on his hand, the silver in stark contrast to his dark skin.

I had a bad hand, but tried not to show it on my face. I had gotten a letter from my son that morning. He said he was taking up his German citizenship and joining the Bundeswehr. He had ended it by saying he hoped to never see me again. But I tried not to think about that, and concentrate on the game.

"Well, the Aussies are doing a good thing there. Keeping the Indos from killing everyone on Timor. If you ask me we ought to be doing more of that ourselves," Jiggs said.

I decided to fold this hand, and laid my cards down. The last man, Clark Bom, a FSO like William, only obese, shifted in the seat that creaked as it barely held him up. He pushed in his whole stack of chips to the center of the table. "You mean like in Serbia?" Bom asked Jiggs as he adjusted his glasses.

"I think we should do even more," Jiggs said, "The air war was alright, but any fighting will ultimately be won by who has boots on the ground. What if we run into another Milosevic? If the politicians in charge had one spine between the lot of them we would be moving tanks through their capitol in a day."

"You're asking a lot from politicians," I said, sipping my now tepid beer. "A lot of civilians in Yugoslavia had to die before we even went as far as we did."

Jiggs looked at me over his cards, and pushed in another stack of his chips in the center. "You're right, Charles," he said.

"So," I continued, "what do you do if those folks in charge never grow a backbone?"

Jiggs frowned for a moment. "Charles is right," William said, "when have our 'leaders' shown a good sense for leadership?"

"They're the ones who get elected," Bom said, "the ones who get focus-tested and watered down to mean nothing. They've got the money to buy their seats." He laid his cards down, and Jiggs followed. Jiggs won, and pulled in his chips.

Peter had finished the letter by calling me a bastard. Even after so many years, he still thought that I had been responsible for his mother's death, and hated me for it. Well, I hadn't been. Yomiko, my wife, had died in a head-on collision with an 18-wheeler while we had been living in Germany. But Peter had never forgiven me.

On bad days, I would remember her voice, how she had said that she needed to go. And on those days I wanted to hate myself. But only on those few days.

"Well, this country isn't leaderless," Jiggs said. We turned to look at him, though he was looking at the center of the table. "I think if it were necessary, the military would do what was needed. There are still good men in the ranks who love this country, and who could step up to the challenge."

William nodded. "I don't think that's a half-bad idea. Discipline, loyalty, camaraderie – I think Americans would respond to that. It's what we need now."

Bom smiled. "Reminds me a bit of Dole's campaign. But hey, I voted for him."

The trio looked at me, obviously expecting a positive response. "I can only hope that things never get so bad," I said.

Jiggs looked surprised, but quickly nodded. "Of course! I mean, I don't think anyone wants things to go to hell, you know..." his voice trailed off. I wasn't paying attention though.

After a few more hands, where I ended up losing a small amount, I left for my house. Walking into the low, dark building I went to the kitchen table where I had left the letter after reading it. Repressing the small urge to burn it in spite, I took it to my office, and filed it away in a filing cabinet with the three other letters I had received from Peter since he had left home.

I found myself picking up an old photobook without thinking about it, and flipping through the pages, the only light coming in from the street lamp outside. As I looked at the pictures of Peter, Agnes, and Yomiko, I felt the pit in my stomach. I slammed the book shut. It did no good to dwell on the past. And besides, Peter's dream of seeing me dead would be done soon enough.

* * *

><p><em>March 24, 2000<em>  
><em>T-minus 173 days<em>

My retirement party. As I had expected, there was a full to-do at Silvestre's home. Everyone was sad to see me leaving, but they were all happy that I had found something better. After I had given my obligatory speech, I mingled. And it was walking around the beautiful garden Silvestre's wife had in their backyard that I ran into the young Valerie again.

She was seductive. Her hair was down, and she was wearing a strapless black gown that accented her assets without showing them for free. In her hand she had a half-finished glass of champagne.

"Miss Valerie," I said, getting her attention. She smiled.

"Ah, Mr. Tallmann, congratulations," she replied. I waved with my free hand.

"Please, call me Charles. No need to be formal now that I'm out of the Agency." She laughed, and we began talking.

It was in my college years, back in the mid-60's, that I read a novel by a British author who made an observation that had been stuck in my head ever since. He had written that in about 10 minutes, a man will know if he wants to sleep with the woman he is talking to. In 10 minutes I knew I wanted to sleep with Valerie.

The next hour was a cat & mouse game of flirtation, as I maneuvered to have her come home with me. It was subtle – I didn't want to come off as too forward, and she didn't want to seem too easy. It was in the small motions - her biting her lips, my standing closer to her, et cetera - that we played. It was a game I had played with countless other women over the years, women whose faces and names I could no longer remember. Eventually she consented, and relatively early in the evening we left the party. As we drove to my house, I glanced over at her, and in the passing light of street lamps saw the slight flush in her cheeks.

Once we were in the door there was a fury of undressing and foreplay, as I tried to take as much as I could from her body. For she was to be my last partner, and so I did all I could to take my pleasure from her. I ran my teeth over her lips, my hands up her legs, and tasted the slight traces of sweat below her jaw. I drank in her moans, her squeals, the shudders of her body as I assaulted her, and brought her to the bed.

But I did not care for her.

A few hours later, as we lay in my bed, she spoke to me in a bored voice about her lout of a boyfriend, the impossibility of finding men like myself in her generation, and so on. In an instant the pleasure I had taken from her turned to ash in my mouth. Not even pushing her down without another word and continuing the night games helped, though she gasped and screamed.

* * *

><p><em>March 25, 2000<em>  
><em>T-minus 172 days<em>

Valerie was gone when I woke up the next morning. Which was for the best.

As always, I went through my routine. Even if I was going to kill myself, I should look presentable. I put on a nice shirt and tie, and checked my pistol to make sure it was clean and wouldn't misfire. It was only when I looked in my mail that I stopped preparing.

Two letters were addressed to me. I opened the first one, from Dr. Taro Ochi, a contact from my days living in Japan. It was in Japanese, and my mind took a moment to begin translating the long-unseen kanji. My eyes widened as I read the letter.

Takahiro Kaji was dead. I began panting as it sank in. The pit, that terrible feeling of powerlessness in the face of tragedy, wrenched open in my gut. Taro thought I should travel to the area soon, maybe talk to Kaji's widow.

I ripped open the second envelope even before I finished reading the first, nearly tearing the letter itself, and saw that it was from Takahiro, but from an earlier date. My hands were shaking, and I was clammy with cold sweat as I held the creased paper.

"_My friend Charles, if you are reading this, then I have met my end._  
><em>And you are the only person I trust.<em>"


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – A Better Man**

"_This day a man is, and tomorrow he appears not. Full soon this shall be fulfilled in you; see if you may have it otherwise._" - Thomas à Kempis

It's some time in July, 1970. No, 1971. I'm drinking room-temperature sake with Takahiro in a dingy ramen bar outside Nagasaki. We're silent, just listening to the sound of the other patrons, bachelor salarymen in cheap suits wanting a fast dinner. A fan up in the corner tries vainly to cool the thin room.

"I don't know why you dragged me down here," I eventually say, wiping the sweat from my eyes, "at least in Hokkaido the weather is a bit more bearable." And in Hokkaido I could at least keep trying to figure out the Soviet fleet's movements out of Vladivostok, but I didn't say that. Takahiro had said he was going to visit his relatives, and invited me along. I think he wants me to forget the recent break-up I had.

Takahiro smiles, takes a bite of pork gyoza, and wipes his goatee with a napkin. "There's someone I want you to meet. I think you'll like her."

I finish off my sake, and Takahiro refills the glass for me. I've rolled up my shirt sleeves, and my jacket is draped on my stool. I wonder why I even brought it with me. Takahiro's tie is loosened, and he's unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. I've been in Japan a few years now, and I'm starting to settle into a distaste for the Japanese summer – all humidity.

"This is the fifth girl you've introduced me to, Hiro, please tell me she's different from the rest," I say. I study Takahiro. His hair is long, with almost a girlish cut to it. His skin is almost bronze, which he had explained to me as coming from his Okinawan roots. When he smiles you can see that he's missing a tooth just beyond his right canine. He's been my friend and ally ever since I arrived in the country.

Takahiro finishes slurping some noodles. "She is, she is, don't worry. All those other girls? I was wrong about them, I admit it." He puts his hands up to show his sincerity. "I thought they would like you, seeing as all they would talk to me about is rock & roll and jazz and the Beatles, all American culture, eh?"

The last one, Chihiro, had been nice, but had left me because she thought I was too foreign. That had stung.

I snort. "The Beatles are British. I bet Dave could tell you more."

Takahiro rolls his eyes. "_Sir_ David," he says, "would also tell you about how the British Empire was the greatest force for development the world has ever seen, and how the Beatles factor into that civilizing mission." I let out a laugh at that, even if I thought David was a nice enough guy. "I'm serious, though," Takahiro says after a moment, his voice a little less joking now, "this one will be different. She's an old friend of mine, you see?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Friend? Or 'friend'?"

He hits my shoulder. "Friend!"

I laugh. "Hey, I think it's fair for me to ask that. You are the only man I've met who's convinced three separate girls that he's only dating them."

Takahiro puts a hand to his forehead. "Ayaa, please don't remind me of that. I still have nightmares of when they all met each other."

I grin, and finish off another glass of sake. I pour more for both of us. To our left the chef pours some vegetables from a metal container into batter before dropping them into sizzling oil. "Considering how mad they were, I think you got off pretty lightly," I say.

A few minutes of silent eating ensue as we finish our meals. "So are we meeting her here?" I ask. Takahiro shakes his head. We pay for the food, and head out into the evening. In the distance we hear a train whistle as it pulls into a depot.

A lot of things are on my mind as we wander through the streets. My superiors back in the States have intimated that my knowledge of so many languages might get me sent to Europe – they had been told that my work on sigint would be much appreciated by other agents in Germany. It would fit my skills, I think. To my boyhood German I had added Russian and Japanese fairly easy. If I needed to, I think I could add French or Polish. And maybe, I think, I won't feel like such an outsider in Europe.

"Hey, this way," Takahiro says, and pulls me from my thoughts. We leave the road and go into an alley between a group of low and dirty buildings. Around us I hear the sounds of people getting drunk, women yelling, children crying, laughs, screams, the whole gamut.

"Where you grew up?" I ask. Takahiro shakes his head.

"Mind telling me where we're going then?" I ask. He shoots me a grin.

"You want me to spoil the surprise?" he says.

I sigh in response, "Lead on."

We walk further through the night, with Takahiro checking his watch every so often. After some time we arrive at a small park, quiet at this hour of night. But I see a few dozen yards away a seated figure, facing away from Takahiro and myself.

"Ah, Yomiko!" Takahiro yells out. The woman jumps from her seat and turns around. As she jogs over to us I get a better look at her face. She has a broad nose, shoulder-length brown hair, and sharp eyes. My breathing gets shallow as I look at her.

She throws her arms around Takahiro's neck and laughs into his shoulder. "Ah, Hiro, it's been too long!" she says.

"Ayaa, what can I say, Yomi? I've been a busy man, you know," he responds, "but it's good to see you again." He breaks off, and motions toward me. "This is my good friend Charles, the American."

She looks at me, and I feel extremely awkward and unkempt. She walks over to me and puts out her hand. After a second of hesitation I shake it. She's short, shorter than Takahiro, and much shorter than me, but I feel very small looking at her smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Charles," she says in slightly accented English, "Takahiro has told me much about you."

I laugh awkwardly. "I can only hope it's been the good stories," I say. Right after I say it, I feel stupid for phrasing it like that, but Yomiko laughs anyway.

"Come, come, both of you," Takahiro says, "Yomi, now that you're out of school, I can show you the best places in town!" He pulls the two of us with him, and we spend a good evening together.

And that's how I met the only woman I ever loved.

* * *

><p><em>March 27, 2000<br>__T-minus 170 days_

I tried to re-read Takahiro's letter on the flight over the Pacific. But it was difficult – not just because of his death, the letter itself was hard to parse. The writing was scrawled and crabbed, with blotches of ink obscuring parts of it. The content wasn't much easier. Takahiro spoke of vast dangers, "_terrible implications for the West, the UN, the entire world_", and "_a monstrous cabal dedicated to death_" that he had been investigating. He wrote that it was too risky to send me any material, even using our old dead-drop system; that I had to go to his home and find his notes, "_incomplete as they are_." What he had enclosed was a small key, presumably to some safe.

It had been many years since I had last spoken or heard from Takahiro, but this sounded like a very different man from the one I had known – this was the writing of a hunted man.

Takahiro didn't give me much to go on. "_See Grigory. He can help,_" he had written, along with a garbled address to some minor town in Russia.

My eyes were drawn to the bottom of the page. "_I hate the fact that I must thrust this upon you, Charles. But you are the only man in the world I can trust to take this burden. My work should be hidden, so my watchers can't find it, but I know you will. You always had the better touch. Stay strong, friend._"

I didn't take the letter seriously. I could almost accept him being killed by some insane group like Aum Shinrikyo, or some North Korean agent, but this? It was too much, too insane. Conspiracies? Secret councils? It was the stuff of paranoiacs and madmen.

Taro's letter, on the other hand, was fairly neutral in tone. It gave me his address, in the north of Japan, and said that if I might come, I should think about seeing Kaji's family. Taro had been an acquaintance of Kaji's, something of a friend to Takahiro and myself, and a useful contact into some of the seedier elements of Japanese business. I hadn't thought that he would be the one to tell me of Kaji's death.

As the plane descended into Sendai airport in the gray morning, I wondered about how the confident, swaggering man I had known could turn into such a wreck. I couldn't really wrap my head around it, and it consumed my thoughts as I dodged through the crowds carrying my small travel case. Sendai was unremarkable, the planes seen through the windows could have been planes from anywhere, and the men and women bustling through the buildings did their best to ignore each other. As I rented a car at the terminal and flashed my international driver's license to the blankly smiling girl, it hit me. Maybe it was the same way I had turned into a lifeless shadow of my former self. Gritting my teeth I took the keys from the girl and walked out of the building to the car lot.

The drive north to Iwate took a few hours. I didn't know if I would see Kaji's family. It didn't help that I had never met the widow, having left for Germany with Yomiko before Takahiro married, and had little idea of what I would say to her. My mind ran over these questions as I drove past fields and mountains leaving Sendai, the world wet from a thin rain. I was glad I had slept on the plane, but I still felt a little disoriented.

I hadn't brought much with me, but in my pocket I held Yomiko's old rosary. As I had packed to leave it had been instinctual to pick up, but it was only after I had left Los Angeles for Guam that I realized I had it with me. Absently as I drove I ran the fingers of my left hand over the wooden crucifix and beads. I didn't pray, but it gave me something to do besides brood. As I approached the town Taro had given his address in, evening was beginning to set in, the sun touched the tops of the mountains to the west, illuminating the last few vestiges of snow on their peaks. I stopped at a convenience store and got myself a cheap pack of cigarettes as well as a small flashlight on a whim. As I got back in the car and lit one, I regretted the decision to go cheap, tasting more tar than anything else, but bore it.

Taro's home was a fair distance outside of the nearest town, Tanohata. Forests and crop fields ranged out into the distance as I drove down the quiet road. By the time I reached the address, showing a low, modern building, the sun had retreated behind the mountains, and the orange glow of sunset was fading to blue. I parked the car, and read the sign in just off the gravel road – [i]_Ochi Taro, M.D._[/i]

I guessed that was his practice. I got out of the car and walked around the building, but I couldn't see anything through the dark windows. The woods around me were quiet, the only sound being my feet crunching the damp gravel scattered around the building. Glancing about, I saw a second driveway, leading further away from the road and the practice. Assuming it to be the road to Taro's home, I got back into the car and drove down the dirt path. Over me stood tall trees.

A minute or two later I came into sight of a fairly large home built in a faux-traditional manner, in the center of a large clearing surrounded by woods. Two new cars stood parked near the building. I parked the rental again, stepped out, and walked to the front door. I rang the doorbell and waited. A few moments later I heard light footsteps coming from the other side. The door opened, and a young woman bowed to me as she said "Welcome." I inclined my head toward her.

"Is Taro here?" I asked in Japanese.

She blinked a few times. She obviously hadn't been expecting that. "Ah, yes he is. Please, follow me." She began walking down a corridor to the left the only sound being the wooden boards creaking beneath our weight. I neglected to take off my shoes, I wasn't planning on staying very long. Taro's woman was dressed in a blue silk cheongsam, which left just enough to the imagination. A few doors down she knocked on the wooden frame. "Dear, a visitor is here to see you," she said.

"Let him in," came from the other side. The voice was ravaged and broken – Tom Waits in Japanese. The woman smiled and bowed at me again, and turned to leave. I slid open the paper door. The room was fairly large, at least 30 feet long, and the walls bare except for a few samples of calligraphy and a liquor cabinet directly to the man's left. Sitting on a small stool, facing away from me towards an open window, was Taro. He was wearing a business suit, and his shaved skull tapered to a rounded point. In his hand I could see he held some warm drink – a light steam came from the cup. I was a bit amused at Taro's attempt to live respectably and traditionally. The thug had become the sage.

"Taro," I said as I stepped in and closed the door.

I could see Taro stiffen minutely at my voice. "Charles. It's been a long time." He gestured to the cabinet with his free hand. "Please, help yourself. When was the last time you had a fine drink?"

I thought of the shitty beer I had contented myself with back in the States, unwilling to drink anything stronger. "Longer than you think," I said. I moved to the cabinet, and began looking through his selection. I passed by whiskies, sakes, gins, until I found a bottle of shochu. It had been Takahiro's drink of choice. I poured myself a generous glass, and took the seat to Taro's left. I wasn't sure why I was getting such a cold reception from him, but I didn't really care.

I studied his face in profile as he continued to look outside the window. He had a patch of gray hair on his chin, and his nose was crooked. Both were new to me. Taro had been something of a handsome man when I had first met him, to see him look so ancient caught me. Taro kept watch on the dark scene outside the window, where the faint sound of rain could be heard. I took a drink from my glass. It was good.

Eventually Taro turned to face me. "So what happened?" I asked.

He took a drink from his amber-colored liquor. "The police say it was a botched robbery. The bedrooms were ransacked, valuables stolen. Obvious signs of struggle. It looks like Takahiro was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Damn. I closed my eyes for a few moments. Was that it? Had Kaji just died to a smash and grab gone wrong?

"And the body...?"

"Already waiting for cremation. And before you ask," he continued, "I did get a chance to see the body. Three gunshots to the chest. Whoever did it wasn't much of a professional."

Damn again. On some level I had hoped to see Takahiro's face again, one last time. We had promised we would meet again some day when I had left. And another strike against the assassin theory. I almost felt a little disappointed that Takahiro had been so wrong about his situation.

"What about his family? What were they doing?" I asked.

"They were down south at the time. Ofunato. Staying at a relative's."

I sighed. "Where are they now?"

"Nearby. You needn't worry about them."

That helped, somewhat. "Does David know?"

Taro shrugged. "He should, but I haven't heard anything from his quarter. The Baron probably has other things to worry about."

I was silent again. "I take it you stayed close?" I asked after a minute.

"Hmm? You mean after you left?" Taro looked back out into the night. "I suppose. We stopped talking much a year or two ago. He sort of dropped off the planet. His family is nice, though. Two rowdy boys, and a smart wife."

So Taro didn't know about what Takahiro was thinking. I thought about mentioning the letter Kaji had sent me, but decided against it. I looked out the window as well. I could see the silhouette of the treeline in the distance. "What's she like?"

Taro chuckled. "Michiru? She's a firebrand. He made out good to get her." Taro was quiet. "Takahiro always did seem to have a knack for getting the best, though."

I looked at Taro. "It doesn't look like you've been doing too badly yourself, Taro. Still plugged into the family businesses?" The question came out more venomous than I had intended, but Taro did not react to it.

Taro finished his glass. "You might say so. In addition to the traditional open practice, I attract something of a... 'discreet'... clientele out here. I patch up men without talk, and I'm recompensed well. It's good business."

I drained the last of my shochu, and put the empty glass on the ground. A thought stirred in my head. "So how far is Takahiro's home?" I asked.

Taro raised an eyebrow at me. Finally, some kind of response from him. "About 30 kilometers away, why? It's still a crime scene, you know."

I stood up. "I imagine. So where?"

Reaching into his shirt pocket, Taro produced a small pad of paper and a pen. He quickly wrote down the address, and ripping the page from the pad, handed it to me.

"It would probably be better if you didn't get caught trespassing on a manslaughter scene," he said. I nodded.

"I'll do my best," I said as I stuffed the page into my coat pocket. As I turned away I heard Taro clear his throat. I stopped with my hand at the door.

"Charles," he started, "I... _do_ wish we could have met again under better circumstances. Takahiro was a good man, and I don't think he ever spoke an ill word of you."

My chest tightened at that. I had to force myself to let my breath out. "That sounds like him," I said, and then opened the door and left. The rain had stopped again by the time I walked out of the building, but a mist was beginning to form just above the ground. I got into my car and slammed the door shut. My hands clenched and unclenched on the steering wheel for a few seconds before I decided to start the car. The windshield wipers were thankfully silent as the cleared the remaining drops from the glass.

I drove away from Taro's home, and found the road to Kaji's. Driving along the dark road, I rolled down the window and smoked another cigarette. I felt light-headed. My not eating anything that day had come back to bite me in the ass. My eyes felt a little too big for their sockets, but I rubbed them with my free hand and kept driving.

After a short drive I drew near to where Kaji's property was supposed to be. I was far from any other people, in the foothills of a large mountain. Woods stretched all across its face and surrounded where I was. The clouds had broken, and through the gaps bright collections of stars could be seen. A distance away from the home, I stopped the car and got out. I decided to try and get to Kaji's place unseen, in case there was some police officer patrolling. Walking through the forest, I could feel the bottom of my pants pick up the damp from the tall grasses, but I ignored it. I could hear an owl call in the trees near me, and a small stream coming from the top of the peak to my left.

After a short walk, I came across the house. Unlike Taro's, Kaji's looked like it could have been built by Le Corbusier. Both floors were open with walls of glass, though the interior was dark and empty. I could see one of the panels on the ground floor had been smashed, and a thin line of yellow tape was stretched across the gap. I crouched and waited a few minutes to see if anyone came by, but there was nothing. Reaching into my coat, I pulled out a pair of gloves and the flashlight I had bought.

Putting on the gloves, I got to my feet and walked over to the broken window. I turned on the flashlight and looked inside. I didn't see any shards of glass on the floor; so taking off my shoes and carrying them in my left hand, I crouched under the crime scene tape and went inside.

The bottom floor didn't seem to be that ransacked. Most things looked like they were where they were supposed to be, with only the lightest layer of dust on them. I could have just walked back out, satisfied that the police had done their duty, consigned the letter as the work of a broken mind, and gone back to my sad existence of a life. I stopped in the middle of the living room, thinking on my options, and looked up the flight of stairs to the second floor. I decided to take a look up there.

The first thing my flashlight descended on was a dried puddle of blood in the middle of the hallway. "Damn it," I whispered, and screwed my eyes shut for a minute. After taking a few breaths I opened my eyes again, and stepped over the blood. I glanced around in some of the rooms. Two were obviously for Kaji's kids, but my eyes were caught when I came across Takahiro's bedroom.

The room had been torn apart, the tables toppled, the bed turned on its side, the wall paintings smashed on the ground. If whoever had killed Takahiro had been looking for his notes, they had looked in the right places. I tried to think about where Takahiro might have hid something he thought was so valuable. I began running my hand along the walls, trying to feel for any seams. Nothing. I got to my knees and felt underneath the dresser for a secret compartment. Still nothing.

I opened up the closet and glanced around. I was about to close it again when something struck my eye. The closet opened up to the left and right beyond the door frame. I examined both, and it looked like the wall to the left of the door was slightly thicker than the one on the right. I pulled out some clothes and got inside the small room. I shone my light on the wall, and there it was right near the ground, a small keyhole. I pulled out the key Kaji had sent me, and placed it in the lock. It turned easily, and the panel swung forward.

Shining the light inside the small safe, I saw a loose collection of paper. These had to be the notes that Kaji had told me about. I pulled them out, closed the safe, and walked out of the closet. Holding the flashlight in my mouth, I scanned my eyes over the pages.

If I felt the letter had been difficult, this was even harder. It all seemed just a jumble of words and names I had never heard before. The UN was connected to a military contractor, whose president was connected to some obscure computer company? On one page Kaji had drawn uneven circles around "UN" and "Gehirn," put arrows between them, and wrote above it all in uneven letters "3RD GEOLOGICAL SURVEY!"

But the worst was a page filled with one word: 'soul' in German – 'Seele'.

As I read the pages my heart sank further. Kaji had been sick before he died. I wondered about what I was supposed to do with these notes. To stop myself from looking over them longer, I folded them up and put them in my inside coat pocket. It was then I heard a voice from downstairs.

"Who's here?" the voice called. It was young, male, and a bit wobbly. But it wasn't Japanese. I froze for an instant, then turned off the light and crept back into the closet. I could hear the boy wander around, his shoes clopping on the steps. I tried to breathe as shallowly and quietly as I could. I looked at the crack between the floor and the door, and saw it flash as he swung his own flashlight around. I held my breath as I heard a pistol being slid into a holster.

I heard the steps move away and back down the stairs, and I let out a quiet sigh. I waited a few more minutes in there before stepping out, and quietly making my way out. I couldn't hear anyone else walking around outside, so I went back to the broken window I had come in through. I slid my shoes back on, and glanced around, thinking I had gotten away. It was as I jogged back to the treeline that I heard the voice again, yelling out "Stop right there!"

I turned my head over my shoulder, and saw him running towards me, his pistol drawn. He wore no uniform, just a suit. My heart leaping in my chest, I burst into a run. Low trees and branches whipped me as a sprinted away. I felt a sharp pain in my back, and heard a few gunshots. I kept running, trying not to trip on any undergrowth. As I went further on, I began stumbling, and my legs felt weak. Faster than the way in, I made it back to the car. Flinging open the door, I threw myself back into the seat, and gunned the engine. The tires spun in place for a second before the acceleration pushed me back into the driver's seat.

I started driving back towards Taro. In my mind I knew I had been shot, but I tried not to think about it. As I drove along, my vision became fuzzy, and the world started to fold in on itself. The trees hanging over the road started to close their branches in on me. I could feel my heart drumming through my veins. The further I drove the more stiff my body felt. I wondered if I could make it to Taro's home.

As I passed by the dark practice again, I found myself struggling to keep my eyes open. The next events were a blur. I got out of the car. I somehow dragged myself to the door of Taro's now dark home. I hit the doorbell and beat on the door twice. And when the door opened to reveal Taro, I fell forward onto my face. The last thing I heard before falling unconscious was Taro's voice yelling out.


	4. Interlude I

**Interlude I**

"Our civilization is haunted by death. Faustian Man, who has attained the utmost heights of knowledge, is confronted at last with the true face of Mephistopheles, and is struck dumb with fear. He, who has conquered all things, is at last conquered _tempore edace_.

"_Suns can rise and fall-_  
><em>but when our brief light dies<em>  
><em>we must sleep a perpetual night.<em>

"The history of mankind and his civilizations is the history of all things that live; the history of all mortal and changeable matter – generation, growth, corruption, and death. All that is must pass away, that which is born must die – these are truths of human existence, ones that we now shun from in fear and terror. For those who consider themselves helmsman of nations and peoples have grown ignorant in their power, and have turned their ears to men who speak the honeyed words of our degenerate era.

"Yes, degenerate! As a wild beast cries out incessantly, its leg trapped in a cage, wailing in pain and horror at the maker of its doom, our civilization throws itself into frenzied activity, seeking all manner of distraction. A decadent age produces decadent men, as the Arab Khaldun knew well. As Goethe puts in the mouth of Mephistopheles:

"_In the end you are – what you are._  
><em>Set on your head a wig with a million curls,<em>  
><em>Set your feet on heels half a yard high,<em>  
><em>Still, always, you stay what you are.<em>

"Whether it be in capitalistic commerce, naïve religiosity, or political utopianism, men fling themselves into the world to escape the void they feel in their hearts. They seek to place meaning in meaningless acts, and when the breath leaves their body they weep like children, begging for a few more moments of interminable life.

"Faustian civilization is falling, and it brings down with it all mankind. There is nowhere any longer men who have not heard the voice of Mephistopheles, and accepted his bargain. The shadow of death has fallen on all the world, and there is no escaping it. The trumpets will never sound, the angels never appear in the sun, the Christ will not come again, nor shall the Mahdi, or that Rapture of the self-proclaimed intelligentsia, the Singularity. '_How quickly we fall to nothing from nothing!_'

"Yes, the world, if left on its path, will be destroyed and forgotten. Our race itself will disappear under the sands as Ozymandias did, and soon enough there will be nothing left of humanity. And yet men continue to delude themselves, and consider the world fixed in its paths. Even the men of earlier ages, scraping their heads in the dust before their altars, knew that Fortune was fickle, and she both raised and brought low men according to no laws. And some day, Fortune and Fate will end the number of the days of Man, and there will be nothing to be done. Even that whoremonger Horace knew such wisdom:

"_Once you have fallen, and Minos given_  
><em>his splendid judgment,<em>  
><em>not birth, Torquatus, nor riches, nor elegance<em>  
><em>nor piety, will restore you.<em>

"But I have the way out.

"Instrumentality."


	5. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – In the Cold**

1973. Kaji, David, and I are sitting in a dark, cramped bedroom in a dirty apartment in Hong Kong. I'm laying on the bed, trying to get a little rest as David and Takahiro keep watch through the window blinds. The walls are thin, and I can hear the sounds of people in the building around us, even as late in the night as it is.

"David, I don't think he's going to show up," I say. I hear him shift on his chair to look at me, though I have my right arm covering my eyes.

"God damn it Charles, the man has to arrive some time," David says, his accent pure Eton, but I can hear the frustration in his voice. He's dressed in a slightly-stained button t-shirt and brown pants. Takahiro sighs, and I hear him check his scoped camera once more.

I share the feeling. We've been holed up in this apartment for three days, hoping to find proof that the smuggler Ming Cai is involved in shipping arms to the New People's Army in the Philippines. David thinks the arms are coming from the People's Republic, and thinks getting this guy could lead somewhere.

I don't exactly agree, but Takahiro had pled on David's behalf two weeks earlier, and so here we are in the slums of Hong Kong, hoping that we can get photos of this man entering an arms warehouse.

"And you're certain he'll go through the front door?" I ask.

"Charles," David says, "that's the _only_ door."

I move my arm and push myself to a seated position. I can feel the sweat soaking my tank top. David is just a year older than I am, with an aquiline nose and close-set eyes, and he looks the part of a British aristocrat.

"That..." I start, "that can't be up to code."

David lets out a little snort. Outside we can hear the rain smash down on the city around us. Every once in a while thunder or sirens break up the monotonous sound of falling water. Takahiro checks the camera again.

"For fuck's sake, Kaji, the camera's fine!" I say. He stops fiddling with the scope and looks up at me. He tries to flash a smile, but it doesn't stick. He's just as sick of being stuck here as David and I.

"Maybe he knows someone's looking for him? And he's gone to ground?" Takahiro says. David shoots him a dirty look.

"He doesn't know a damn thing, alright!" David says, dropping the hand that holds a small pair of binoculars. "I've kept this whole operation airtight so far, you understand? Ming shouldn't know anything."

Takahiro shrugs, sits back in his chair, and closes his eyes.

I get up off the bed and head through the main room-cum-kitchen into the bathroom to take a piss. I flush the toilet, and rub the sides of my aching head, just next to my ears. Walking back I grab my jacket and take out one of the slightly bent cigarettes from the pocket. I light it up and begin slowly drawing on it as I walk into the kitchen space and pour out two cups of coffee.

The other two looked at me as I walk back to the observation post and hand them the cups. They nod their thanks.

A few hours pass. I hear two people argue in Cantonese for most of it. At one point we hear a woman shriek and scream for about half an hour. I look at David, who guesses what I'm wondering about. "Marital dispute," he says, and goes back to looking down on the street, several stories below.

As morning approaches, I switch with David, and start looking through the window. David lies down on the hard bed and throws a coat over his face.

Half an hour later, Takahiro looks at David, who seems to be snoring, then at me. "So Charles, how are things with Yomiko?" he says, keeping his voice down.

I turn to face him. "Ah," I start, "Uh, pretty good, I'd say. Why? Did she tell you something?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing bad, say. But you ought to see the look in her eyes when she talks about you. I'd give up every girl in the world if I had one who did the same for me."

I smile. "You know, you were right." He tilts his head. "When we met," I explain, "you said I'd be very happy to meet her. And you were right." I let out a small, breathy laugh. "I think I'm going to ask her to marry me when we get back from this."

Takahiro's mouth opens up. "Ayaa, really?" He smiles. "Good, good! Good for both of you. I am very sure she'll say yes, of course."

I smile back at him. "Well, let's not presume too much." I nod my head towards David. " And let's find this guy as well. Even if he's just a smuggler."

Two hours later, the eastern sky begins to show the smallest tinges of orange. I'm rubbing my eyes when I realize that the rain has stopped. I look over at Kaji, who's also fallen asleep. I check my watch and sigh.

As I look out the window, I suddenly become aware of a change in the scene. A good number of the parked cars are gone, and I can make out by the weak lights two figures hanging out near the doorway who weren't there before. I quickly get up off my chair and rouse Kaji and David, who mumbles something at me.

As Kaji shakes his head, I see a small black car, nicely made but obviously not in the best condition, drive up the street.

"Shit, I think he's here," I say. I hear Kaji check the camera one more time before pulling it up to his eye. The car slows down and parks in front of the warehouse. Out step two men from the front seats, one of whom opens the back door. From there comes out a man, who looks more like a bureaucrat than a smuggler, with thin-rimmed glasses, wearing a nice suit. I can hear Kaji take multiple pictures as David peers over my shoulder.

The man looks around a few seconds, then enters the building. David puts his hands on my shoulders and squeezes.

"We've got him, lads."

* * *

><p>1983. I'm at quite the fancy get-together in Brüser Berg, just outside Bonn. I'm under the name Walther Helnwein, and schmoozing the crowd of mid-range West German politicos. The attire is black-tie, and the women look fabulous. Champagne is abundant. The very large house I'm in is the residence of Bundeswehr Inspector General Jürgen Brandt, who's planning on retiring in a few months. It's well-lit by chandeliers and bright candles – Brandt went all-out with the furnishings.<p>

I walk through the press of men and women, sliding through the gaps between small groups. At the foot of the staircase I can see the good General making what I can only assume is in his mind a short speech, though he's been there for 10 minutes already. I slowly run my left thumb along the base of my ring finger, the missing ring conspicuous in my mind. It's not the first time I've had to take the slim silver band off. '_It's just one more time_,' I tell myself, on some level knowing it won't be. But somehow I can always justify it. It's protecting the freedom of the world. Looking between the suits and dresses, I catch sight of the woman I'm here to get close to.

Victoria Hauser. A little younger than I am, she's a civilian official in the Bundeswehr, and Silvestre and I suspect she's selling deployment plans to the Russians. If it had been just that, I probably would have left it to one of my other German agents to find out, but there's a catch in her file that caught my eye – the code-name Aurelius.

One of the top spies in Europe, we in the West only know his code-name, and that he's highly-ranked within the Soviet GRU. Part of the reason I had been pulled from Japan three years earlier was that my superiors had hopes that I could find a way to open Aurelius' operation. And in those three years I had had little progress. Publicly, I'm just one bureaucrat among the thousands in the American embassy in Bonn.

I make my way toward where Victoria stands, near a table lined with hors d'œuvre. In my mind I check over the information I had been able to obtain about her – university graduate in economics, recently divorced, no children, no major political leanings, recently traveled to Greece for two weeks. I also look her over as I approach. She's a little overweight - her strapless dress stretches in a few places - but she has a pleasant face, with a small nose and soft curves to her cheeks. Her blonde hair is done up in a bun, but I can imagine it framing her face well.

I approach her. "_Guten Abend,_" I say, "how is the evening treating you?"

"_Mir gefällt es gut,_" she smiles and replies, "_Herr_...?"

I put out my hand. "Helnwein. It is a pleasure to meet you, Frau Hauser." She takes my hand, and I bring the back of her hand up to my lips and kiss it gently. I can see she's a little flustered from that, but I smile confidently, and begin to talk to her about various subjects, mostly relating to architecture. The reason Victoria had visited Greece, she tells me, was because she had an interest in the building designs of recent Greek Orthodox churches, though she had little to no interest in religion as such. She's decidedly uninteresting, but I keep my eyes on her as if she were the only woman in the world. Every so often as she talks about herself she laughs nervously.

It's times like these I think in the back of my mind how much I've changed, from the young man who hesitated to feel up his girlfriends when making out, to seducing women for what they could offer to his plans. David had once congratulated me for being able to do that, but there are times when I wonder if it's a good thing.

As the party continues around us, with a string quartet playing in the garden, she finishes her third glass of champagne and asks me if I'm free that night. I say yes. We leave without attracting much attention. Though Victoria's home isn't that far from the general's, it's in a much more modest neighborhood. The other houses are quiet and dark in the spring night. Victoria's home as well isn't anything out of the ordinary. Inside, there are parts of the wall where I can tell pictures used to be hung but had been taken down – she and her husband, I suppose.

The sex is unremarkable, and Victoria quickly falls asleep. Making sure not to wake her up, I get up off the bed, which is too thin for the bedroom. Walking over to where I had left my shoes & clothes, I pick them up, get dressed, and walk out of the bedroom. Closing the door, I slide the sole of each shoe off, and take out tiny electronic bugs from each. I put one underneath the telephone, behind a painting on the wall, and the last one in the bedroom. Victoria sleeps through it all. I whisper a few words into one device and hope it's transmitting correctly. I slip out of Victoria's home and drive off in "Walther's" car. I check my watch, it's just after 1 in the morning. I decide to head to the embassy. Maybe I can't think of seeing Yomiko right after something like this. As soon as I can, I slip my wedding ring back onto my finger, and I breathe easy when I feel the familiar tightness.

The drive is short & uneventful, for which I'm grateful. As I go through the empty roads I smoke a few cigarettes, try to overwhelm Victoria's scent with smoke. Already as I drive away, the experience takes on the attributes of smoke – the images, the sounds, the smells, all of them become jumbled, and bleed into each other. Just the same does Victoria's seduction begin to fade, and take on colors from women I had met years earlier.

The embassy parking lot is a concrete field, with only a few cars left on it. I park the car in the work car lot, and enter the building, flashing my ID card to the security guard, who is a little surprised at my attire.

Weaving through the lighted corridors, I walk toward my small section of the building. I have a few offices for myself, my CIA staff, and my cover staff. At this hour only a few of the CIA people are there. Most of the offices are dark, but one is still lit. I look in, it's Laura Waltham, a recent graduate of MIT and one of my signal readers. She's reading a thin novel. I knock on the side of her door, and her head shoots up to look at me.

"Oh, Mr. Tallman," she says, "I wasn't expecting to see you tonight?"

"Not here for long, Laura," I reply, "I just wanted to make sure my little packages work." I walk in and close the door.

"Ah yes!" she says, opening up a locked drawer in her desk, and pulling out a small machine. On it are a few tapes and a radio frequency dial. Laura takes one of the tapes and puts it in a small player. She hits the play button, and my voice is heard speaking a few words. We both smile.

"Perfect," I say, "Keep a close eye on the telephone one, I think that was 9-2, that's where I suspect we'll get the buyer." Laura nods her head. I let out a deep breath. "Alright then, I'm going to head back home"

"Alright," she says, "have a good night, Mr. Tallman."

"Thanks, you too. Try and get some sleep, okay?"

She laughs. "Will do, sir," she says as I walk away.

I leave the embassy; I know I need to go home. I drive south, taking care to stay focused on the road, even though my eyes grow heavy. The moon illuminates the tree-lined streets in the suburb well. I drive the last few streets back to the house on instinct, and it's mostly my muscles that pull the car into the driveway to the two-story building.

I'm already pulling my coat off as I lock the front door and lightly make my way up the wooden staircase. The lights are all off, but my eyes are closed, and I'm walking by memory. I can hear the ticking of the clock Yomiko had taken once my parents had died. I climb the last step, and look to the door in front of me, open just slightly. I peak my head in, and see my two children sleeping. Satisfied, I get to mine and Yomiko's room. I open and close the door as quietly as I can. In the dim light coming from the parted drapes I can see Yomiko's form underneath the covers. The image of her body, how she's changed over 15 years and two children, comes to my mind. But she is still beautiful to me. I strip off the rest of my attire, not bothering to be neat, and climb softly into the bed, hoping not to wake up Yomiko. But as I let my weight down on the mattress, I hear her stir and mumble.

"Mmm, Charles?" she says.

I put my hand on her shoulder and kiss her neck. "It's me sweety. Just a long night at work."

She grunts softly. "You still want to go to Mass with me in the morning?"

I bite my lip. "I'll have to take a rain check, Yomi."

She puts her hand on mine. "Alright. Love you."

I pull my body close to hers, and don't think about my hypocrisy. "I love you too."

* * *

><p>December, 1988. I'm sitting on a metal chair at a small table in a basement in West Berlin. Above us is a machine shop, closed for the night. A single bulb illuminates the concrete walls as Silvestre paces nervously in front of me. The air is thick with smoke; both of us have had about a pack each in the past few hours. The ashtray on the table is overflowing with discarded butts. Around it the table is covered in maps, schedules, dossiers, and written notes in English and German.<p>

Dr. Otto Kranz, a key member of East Germany's nuclear research lab, had requested asylum in the West, but his fear was that he was under watch by the Stasi too much for him to make a break-out himself. The plan was to extract him in the north, somewhere near Schwerin, and get him to Sweden, while at the same time his family escaped through Yugoslavia. I knew why Silvestre was so nervous. There were too many things that could go wrong.

Silvestre runs a hand through his thinning hair. I study his face, watch the slight ripple of his jowls with each step. He turns his head and stares back at me. We've been down here for most of the afternoon and evening, hashing out possibilities and contingencies.

Silvestre takes a nervous drag from his cigarette. "I can't make you do this, you know?" I stay silent. He puts his hand into his pants pocket and then takes it back out. "Are," he pauses, "are you _sure_ you want to do this?"

"Sit down," I say, and he does, resting his elbow on the table.

He looks at me from under his hand. "You... you don't have to do this. We can find somebody else, you can stay with your ki-"

I cut him off by hitting the table with my hand, making Silvestre jump. His hands are shaking minutely.

"I said I'd do it," I tell him, "so I'll do it." My voice is emotionless, slow.

Silvestre starts gesturing in jerky movements. "Look, it's not that you don't want to," he says, "but Christ, man," he points straight at me, "you buried your goddamn wife 6 weeks ago!" My breathing stops, but he doesn't notice.

Silvestre takes his half-finished cigarette and jams it into the ashtray, sending a few small sparks into the air. He lets out a deep breath. "I just think this might be a little early for you," he says, his tone conciliatory.

I take a long drag on my cigarette, then tap the ash into the tray lightly. I loosen my tie a bit, and look him in the eyes.

"You think any of the kids we're saddled with are going to be able to extract our good Doctor Kranz?" I ask.

Silvestre sighs. "No, but-"

"But! What!" I interject. I lean forward over the table. "Look here. If Bright Eyes is right,-"

"But what if they're not?"

"IF. Bright Eyes. Is right. And Aurelius is keeping a close eye on Kranz, sending anyone else is writing them off. I'm the only one who can do this, and I can goddamn guarantee you that if his family gets out but we don't grab Otto at the same time? He's either a dead man or thrown in a hole so deep he might as well be." If I keep myself concentrated on this, maybe I won't be stuck looping Yomiko's last words in my head.

'_I have to go. I have to go._'

Silvestre clenches his jaw. I take another long breath through the cigarette.

"Fine. Fine," he eventually says, "but you're gonna have to use your own resources."

I nod. Ever since I started working Europe I had an account in Austria I could use for my operations.

"Christ," he says, "I just wish we had more time."

_'Don't we always_', I think.

Silvestre gets up from his chair, and quickly grabs his hat and coat. "Alright," he says, "good luck." With that, he walks up the stairs out of the basement. I turn my eyes back to Kranz's itinerary, and continue to formulate my plan. I'm there late into the night.

* * *

><p>February 13, 1989. I'm in a hotel room in Schwerin. I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, just wearing my underwear, yet still sweating. The radiator is too good. In the bathroom I can hear the shower running. My mind is walking a tightrope. I'm trying not to over-think the extraction, which will happen in a day or two, but I need to keep my mind occupied, or else the missing ring on my finger will hurt too much. I wonder if Aurelius is just as focused on what's about to happen as I am.<p>

There are so many things that could go wrong. I had brought together so many disparate sources to try and make this work. I had blackmailed a Bundesnachrichtendienst officer, one Hermann Pauli, to get access to ways out of East Germany his own agents had used. Hermann is a cowardly man, so it wasn't hard for me to browbeat him to give "Viktor" the details. I hadn't brought in David, though. I hadn't talked to him since the funeral.

The pipes in the walls ping every so often, and I can hear a woman's voice singing in the shower. Sophia Hoppe is a convinced Communist, and believes me to be a double agent in the German intelligence service. For the past year and a half I've been using her and her position as a Party secretary as a way to get in and out of East Germany. Sophia knows I had a spouse in the West, but I didn't giver her any details beyond that.

On the radio the news plays an excerpt from Honecker's speech about the Wall. He thinks it'll last 50 years, 100 years. I'm inclined to agree with him.

She has a lovely voice, but I'm not familiar with the song she's singing. After a few minutes the shower stops, and I hear her step out. She comes into my sight only wearing a towel, her brown hair almost black in its dampness. She's quietly singing the same song, singing it at me. She's smiling, happy that I'm here again. When I arrived I told her I didn't know how long I would stay, but she was fine with that.

Sophia turns off the radio. She turns to me, grabs my hands, and entwines her fingers between mine, holding them between us. She tries to get me to smile.

"You know, it's so good to see you again, Viktor," she says, her voice husky, "I've missed you so much since you came to see me last." She pushes me down onto the bed and straddles my waist, the towel dislodged. She begins kissing my upper chest, trying to excite me. After a little bit of time, she pulls back, looks me in the eyes.

"Mmm?" she noises, "what's wrong?" She strokes my cheek.

"Nothing, Sophie," I lie, "just some things on my mind."

She smiles, takes my hand and starts kissing it. She notices that I've no ring anymore and looks at me. "Oh, what happened?" Another kiss. "Did the bitch leave you, or did you kick her out? Well, at least it means more time for us, no?"

Before she can keep going I grab her wrists and sit up.

"Ah, Viktor, that's rough," she says. She thinks I'm being playful until she sees my eyes. Worry crosses her face for a moment. "Viktor, you're hurting me."

"DON'T... don't say that about her," I tell her. And in a moment, in her eyes I can see all the dreams Sophia had built around me and her come crashing down. The game is over, and she realizes I'm something quite different than she imagined. In the back of my mind I wonder if I should have just let it go, but it's too late for that now.

I let go of her hands, and she slowly brings them to her belly. For a second I almost expect her to tell me she's pregnant, but nothing happens. She blinks at me a few times. The corner of her mouth twitches once or twice, then she smiles. She gingerly takes hold of my hands again.

"Ok," she says, "I won't bring it up. I know you care for me more, anyway." I don't contradict her, and we spend the night together.

The next two days, Sophia's behavior see-saws between obsequious declarations of devotion and cold silence. I half-heartedly try to console and reassure her, but we both realize we're playing roles we don't believe in anymore.

At one point in our last argument she asks me straight in my face if I ever loved her. It's a challenge, an attack. If it had been any other time, even 4 months earlier, I could have lied to her. But not now. Her question reminds me too much of another plea, a sobbed question mark that I couldn't answer. No. I can't lie.

"No," I say.

Sophia screams. She slaps me across the face. "You never loved anyone!" is the last thing she ever says to me. It doesn't sink in, though.

* * *

><p>February 16, 1988. Wittenförden. I'm at the wheel of a creaking, rusted van, looking over the steering wheel at one of the lakes of the area. It's a foggy night, and a layer of mist covers the surface of the water. There's no wind outside, and a few clouds obscure the moon. The gun tucked into the back of my belt provides a feeling of cold metal that radiates through my body. I hate having it on me.<p>

I hear a woman clear her throat behind me.

Laura, my sigint specialist, had volunteered to come with me on this operation. I remember clearly the conversation I had with her, how I had done my best to dissuade her from coming.

'_I'm not afraid,_' Laura said to me, taking off her glasses, '_I mean, I have faith in you, Mr. Tallman._'

She's monitoring the small radio we have in the van. A young East German named Tom Probst, whom I had made an agent the year before, is the one to actually grab Kranz when there's an opening. At the moment he's connected to us by the small earpiece and microphone he has on him, through which I've been relaying him orders.

Sitting across from Laura is another German. He calls himself Josef Lehrer, but I know it's not his real name. He's one of the assets I had gotten hold of through Pauli, and will take us all to a fishing boat that can get us across the Baltic. He's maybe 10 years older than me, but looks ancient, with deep set eyes and a crooked nose. He's missing the pinky and ring fingers of his left hand. "Accident at sea," he told Laura when he had caught her staring at it.

Laura's been jumpy since she met up with me and Josef a few hours ago. She told me she made sure that no one had followed her, but she couldn't get rid of the feeling that there were eyes everywhere.

'_That'll happen your first time over the Wall,_' I told her, '_I'm sure you did fine._'

But her nervousness has infected me. My hands unconsciously clench & unclench the wheel. The heater of the van is broken, so I'm wrapped up in a large coat and a pair of gloves. I've been parked on the edge of this lake for over an hour, and it's been two since I heard from Tom.

I check my watch, it's already almost 11. We're supposed to get hold of Kranz before he checks into his hotel in Schwerin.

I can make this work. I will make this work. I can't let everything I've lost be in vain.

I can hear Laura jump in her seat when the radio lets out a small burst of static. She hands me a pair of headphones with a small microphone.

"_Ja,_" I say.

"_Er ist nicht hier_." The voice is low, warbling. _He isn't here_.

The fingers of my left hand curl tightly around the steering wheel, causing the leather to creak. "_Was. Finden Sie ihn!_" I hiss into the little bud. _Find him_.

"_Bitte, ich muss Sie finden_," Tom says. _I need to find you_. His voice is cracking, and I realize how young he really is, how little more than a boy he is. "_Da ist überall Volkspolizei und ich denke, sie haben etwas bemerkt. Ich muss raus._" _Police everywhere. I need to get out._ I can picture the city in my mind, and Tom making his way between alleyways and streets. And I can see the VP in town, their long grey coats buttoned against the chill. But I can't abandon the mission.

"_Erst wenn Sie Kranz finden, hören Sie mich?_" _When you find Kranz._ I can feel Laura's and Josef's eyes on the back of my skull. My stomach is heaving with anxiety.

"_Bitte, bitte, ich habe Angst. Ich glaube, jemand verfolgt mich._" Tom's begging, now. He was so confident when I had told him what he needed to do, as well. _I'm scared. Someone's following me._

"_Wenn Sie Kranz nicht finden, muss ich Sie zurücklassen, verstehen Sie mich?_" I try to keep my voice low. I don't want the others to hear me. _If you don't find Kranz, I will leave you._

I can hear his breath in my ears, heaving gulps of air. A few minutes pass. I have to force myself to breath as I wait.

There's a yell from Tom. I can hear him start running. I call out Tom's name, but he either doesn't hear me or doesn't respond. After another minute or so, I hear him yell out again."_Hilfe! Hilfe!_" he cries, but it's not to me. It's to whoever might be around him. _Help. Help._ Sounds of struggle. Strained voices and garbled words. Then quiet.

"Tom?" I ask. No reply for a few moments.

"_Da ist ein Draht!_" My heart sinks. It's another man's voice. Loud, authoritative. "_Durchsuchen Sie ihn!_" _There's a wire. Search him._

I rip off the headphones and throw them down on the floor of the van. I'm panting, staring at the dashboard. I hit my fist against the wheel. "God _damn it_," I manage to get out. All that thinking about Aurelius, and it was some cops who ruined everything. Cops and a scared kid.

It's quiet in the van. I turn around. Laura is staring intently at me, fear in her eyes. Josef is checking his fingernails.

"Ch... change of plans," I say to Laura, "turn off the radio, we're heading for Kiel without Kranz."

"Are... are we just going to leave?" Laura asks.

"Yes! Damn it! We're leaving!" I roar at her. She blinks a few times at me then nods her head too quickly. I turn to Josef. "When's the earliest your friends can get us out of here?"

He shrugs. "If you have enough, I'm sure they could get you out tomorrow."

I nod. "Fine. Alright, we're getting out of here."

I turn the key, and wait a minute for the engine to warm up. I start driving north, away from Schwerin. I try to just concentrate on the road and the few other cars on it. After half an hour, I think I might be able to get out of the DDR. But it's premature.

Two cars come out of a side road behind me. They're in pursuit. Unmarked, one thought comes into my mind. Not VP, but Stasi. It was a trap, somehow. I swear, and jam my foot on the pedal. The engine roars, and I hear Laura yelp in the back.

The road twists back and forth as it leaves Wittenförden, and I can feel the van slide as I take each turn. I try to think of how I can lose the pursuers, but nothing comes to mind. The farmland stretching into the distance towards the Baltic provides little cover for us. I'm trying not to panic, but one of the smaller cars drives up beside us and hits us. Laura screams.

I yell, and turn the wheel to the left, trying to get them to back off. The sound of metal smashing together rang throughout the van. I pull out the gun I have, and throw it toward Josef, who manages to catch it. "Just shoot!" I yell.

He aims through the side window, and starts firing at the car. The shots are deafening. But after a few the car pulls back a few feet behind us. I look in my rear view mirror. Out of the second car I can see a man with a sub-machine gun stick his upper body out a window.

"Get down!" I yell, but it's too late. He fires, shredding one of my tires. I try to make a turn, but lose control. I close my eyes. It all goes into flickers of consciousness at that. The van tumbles off the road and down the grassy slope, tumbling over its side. I can't hear anything except the sound of tearing and crumpling metal.

My eyes are open, but I don't remember opening them. The windshield is shattered. I try to undo the seat belt, but my hands fumble the first few times. It's only when I lift them straight to my face do I see that they're covered in blood. I finally get it off, and I slump down onto the door. I realize that the van's on its side. The only sound is the ticking of the cooling metal. I cough a few times. I imagine the belt must have left a bruise on my chest.

I start to crawl out through the windshield. The small remnants of glass cut at my forearms, but I ignore it. My body bursts into pain with each movement. I drag myself onto the cold, dewy grass, and roll onto my back. I groan at the feeling.

I can't move, so I wait. I'm done. It's over.

I hear a few voices coming close. But it's not in German. It's Russian.

A few men come up and begin inspecting the wreck. I can hear them pronounce one dead, but not who. They ignore me, except for one.

He walks up to me, slowly, taking each step carefully. He looks down at me, and his face is dark, but I can hear his voice. It's the son of a bitch I've spent the last 8 years fighting, and he's won.

"I suppose it ends like this," he says in English.

I cough up some blood. My voice is small, but there is nothing more I hate at that moment than him. "Kill me, you bastard," I manage to say.

He puts his hands in his pockets. "No, I don't think that'll happen. You're much too valuable to our good allies in Germany."

I close my eyes tight. "Damn you," I breathe out.

"Sorry it had to be like this," Aurelius says to me, and he walks away.

* * *

><p>I'm in some dungeon in East Germany for 6 months. I tell them nothing. I'd lost, but I can't let go of that last shred of pride that prevents me from telling them everything, every name, every safe house, every dirty secret. But nothing passes my lips.<p>

They tell me at some point that Laura died a few days after the crash, that I had killed her through my recklessness and stupidity. I didn't see a need to correct them, so I kept silent. But sometimes I think I can hear her screaming, but I don't know if it's a memory or if it's happening right now.

Every once in a while I see a man, dressed like how I remember my father dressing, before he died. A well-fitting suit, glasses, a bowler hat – the aristocrat's son in self-consciously middle-class dress. He smiles at me, nods his head. I wonder why he smiles. How he can smile. He appears in my cell, one day, and I see him holding Yomiko's rosary, the same she prayed with since she was a young girl. I don't know why he has it. I'm not sure I care anymore.

Days go by when I never hear a sound, and others when my jailers blare music into my cell incessantly. I'm beaten a few times. But I never say anything. I don't even curse or speak to my jailers. I can't distinguish them. They all fall into each other, their faces and voices and bodies rearrange and recombine each moment. But somehow they never notice it when it happens. A few times they wonder if I've gone crazy, that I've lost my mind.

I wonder the same thing.

The moments elide into each other, losing their distinctness. When I'm told that I'm being exchanged back to the West, the words slide over me. It's only when I'm brought to Berlin in the dark of morning that I start to understand that I'm about to be free. My jailers, their features hidden under caps, push me out of the car they had me in, and point me toward the border.

My steps are tentative shuffles. In front of me to my right I can see another man, scared, hunched over, constantly glancing around him, walk toward the East. I wonder what he had done that had led him to this point. I look past the Wall, and I can see a group of people gesturing over to me. I stumble each step. My body feels like it's about to fall over any moment. The Wall looms over me, and it feels even larger and more menacing than ever before in my life. I've spent my life trying to beat it, and here I am, slinking away. The Wall won.

But my steps are true, and I make it over the border, under the glare of the lights. One of the group is Silvestre, and I think I can see David behind a few other people.

"Jesus Christ," Silvestre says, "what'd they do to you, Chuck?"

I don't answer him.

* * *

><p>November 9, 1989. I'm standing in the middle of my kitchen in the house outside Bonn. I was in the hospital a few weeks after getting across the border, but now that I'm out the top brass in Langley want me out of Europe. Things went to Hell after my capture. There was a rash of unsolved murders, accidents, and suicides after the botched extraction of Kranz.<p>

Some people wonder if I talked. Silvestre assures me it's just a rumor, that he's certain people'll come around soon enough, how could I have talked, they all saw what shape I looked like when I got back. He spoke enough that I could tell he thought I had broken as well.

My kids were in the care of some friends in the States while I was in prison. They would meet me in D.C. when I returned. But as I stand there in the house, so quiet, I find that I can't remember their faces. I think about bringing that up with the therapist the Agency has me seeing before I leave, but I decide not to. I assume that plenty of people forget what their children look like. And they're not really mine anyway, they're Charles', who was a far better man than I am.

I turn on the television as I pace through the ground floor. I'm supposed to be packing things for the move over the Atlantic. But instead I've been looking at objects, and feeling a disconnect between myself and the man who had once been here. On the table is an open letter from Takahiro. It's not long, but reading it you can feel his grief. For Yomiko, and for me. But I can't read it more.

The news is on, but it's not the regular time for the news. I turn my head to watch. It's a video, people streaming through the Wall. There's screaming and rejoicing. The news anchor is barely restraining her voice as she speaks. The Wall has come down, she says, it's a new day for Germany.

I look down at the ground for a moment or two then step over and turn off the TV. I stare blankly at the black screen for a minute, and then I kick in the glass tube, shattering it in one blow. I slowly remove my foot, and tip over the box lightly. Small pieces of glass tinkle as they fall on the wooden floor.

I walk into the kitchen. I pull open the drawers of dishes, and methodically throw them onto the ground, watching the porcelain and glass break on the floor, until there's a mound of wreckage in the center of the room. Taking my time, I break the glasses. I overturn the kitchen table, and throw the wooden chairs at the walls.

Going down into the basement, I pick up an ax. I heft it in my hands as I walk back up the stairs. Using the ax handle, I clear the counter tops, sweeping everything onto the floor. I then used the head of the ax to bash apart some of the smaller appliances. Seeing I was done with the kitchen, I walk back into the living room, and start swinging the ax around.

With everything I break, I break a part of the past. The tea set Yomiko's parents gave us for our wedding, the pictures of us with Takahiro, pictures of Agnes' and Peter's first communions, eveyrthing in my sight. The only other sound beyond the hacking and my panting is the tick-tock of the cat clock. Lamps break apart, tables are hacked to pieces, chairs are shredded.

My chest heaves for air, but I'm not sobbing. I can feel water running down my face; it's sweat. I'm not even angry. I look around the devastation, and then let the ax drop from my weary fingers, which hits the ground with a dull thud before the wooden handle clatters on the floor.

I'm standing in the ruins of another man's life, and I don't even know why it happened like this.


	6. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – The Stranger**

_"Oh my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger._  
><em>Be prepared for him who knows how to ask questions."<em>  
>- T.S. Eliot, "Choruses from the Rock," 1934.<p>

_April 3, 2000_  
><em>T-minus 163 days<em>

A dull ache was the first sensation I felt. The fact that I was still alive flashed across my mind. And I was grateful for it, for the first time in a long while.

I opened my eyes, and breathed deeply. A wooden ceiling greeted my eyes, with thin shadows cutting across it. It was dark, some time in the evening. I could hear the rustle of wind and leaves outside. I spent a few minutes just staring at the ceiling.

I had almost died. I knew that in my bones. It shook me, for some reason. Me, the man who just a few days before had started preparing to end his life himself. It wasn't quite what I had expected. The memories faded around me like smoke, leaving only a faint and bitter aftertaste.

'_I have to go. I have to go._'

I sat up, and hissed sharply as I felt the muscles of my back shift. I looked around the room as best I could. It was small and organized. I had been laying in a low bed set into the corner of the room, an IV drip just to my left, the tube connected to my arm catching small amounts of light. I could see my clothes folded in a neat pile on a chair in the opposite corner. There wass a small coffee table next to the IV, with a pitcher of water and a glass. I didn't see Yomiko's rosary, and I could feel my heart start to beat faster as the worry set in.

I was about to try and stand up when I heard the door slide open. I looked, expecting to see the young woman I had seen at Taro's last time. Instead, I saw the same suited man I had once seen in a prison cell in East Germany. He wore black, except for his white shirt and green tie. He was clean-shaven, and on his face had an expression of mirth. He had a bowler hat on.

He looked like my father, with a thin nose, high forehead, and deep-set green eyes. But what caught my attention was what he carried in his hands – the rosary. He stepped into the room, fingering the small wooden beads, and at that moment I could almost feel them at the same time, their angles smoothed down through decades, the hints of rust on the thin chain links threaded through them all. I felt a deep discomfort at him holding it.

The man took a few measured paces into the room, looked around it as if he were appraising it. He didn't seem to notice me.

"Who are you?" I asked. My voice was cracked and terrible.

He stopped as he was about to peek into the pile of my clothing. He dropped the article he had in his fingertips, looked at me as if it were the first time he knew I was there, and smiled. I didn't respond.

"Mmmm?" He noised. "Now look what we have here? A madman and a sinner, nearly dead but too stubborn to quit." His voice was sonorous, as if he could have been singing each word.

"What are you talking about?"

"And apparently too dumb to know when he's the subject of the conversation," the man said, speaking as if to some audience. He pointed at me. "You, Charles Tallman my friend, born September 7 in A.D. 1946, baptized September 10 that same year, and married November 2 1973, are the one I'm talking about. You have two children, a daughter and son, ages 24 and 21 respectively. And you were just shot a few days ago." He took the chair with my clothes on it and tilted it forward, spilling the clothes on the ground. He sat the chair in front of me and the table. "I hope you don't mind if we sit down and have a little chat now, do you? I trust you won't go running out on me, although..." he gestured to the bed, "I do suppose there's little chance of that. Good, it means we can get a nice discussion going."

"I've gone insane," I said. I knew it. Something in my head had finally snapped after all the years of stress, and this was my punishment. The realization gave me small comfort, I was just having a very intricate hallucination.

The man drew back his head. "Insane? Now why do you think that?"

"Why wouldn't I?" I replied. "I... I remember you, I saw you... I saw you in Germany."

He nodded his head sagely. "Yes you did! I'm glad you remembered my lovely face. Though you weren't quite a talkative then as you are now."

I shook my head. "But you're not real! No one else saw you."

"You trust yourself so little, Charles?" He seemed genuinely interested at that. "Though perhaps I can understand why. The world doubts and doubts, doubts everything that can be doubted, why shouldn't it stop until it doubts its very existence?" His smile faltered for a moment. "The world will end with men who deny their very selves. What can that be but Hell?"

I looked down at the water and glass. I turned my body so that my legs went over the edge of the bed. Each movement brought renewed sparks of pain. Reaching over I poured myself some water, and then splashed my face with it. I opened my eyes, water dripping from my hair and eyelashes, only to find he was still there.

"Not what you were expecting, was it?" he asked. I shook my head.

He put one knee over the other and clasped his hands on it, leaving the rosary dangling through his fingers. "Perhaps I can give some proof for my own reality. Do you know why you were baptized so early?" he asked.

I was about to answer when he started speaking.

"Your parents, Pieter and Helene, God rest their souls, were convinced you were about to die," he said, "and they, being so conscientious of their Christian duty as Father and Mother, had you baptized in the hope that if you did die, you wouldn't die without the grace of God." He spoke it with a tone of finality.

I was silent for a few seconds. "I... I remember that story. My mother told me it when I was... 10? It had to be about then, we were still living in Baltimore." I looked back at the man. He was still smiling, but it was a gentle smile.

"Should I try another proof? It was your father's saddest regret that when he left behind your ancestral lands, he was unable to bring along the graves of his forefathers with him. Your father was an interesting man, Charles, in some ways very much like yourself. What was his refrain on German history?"

"He said," I began, "he said that the worst thing to happen to all Germany after Napoleon was the defeat of Austria in 1866." I could hear the sound of his voice, proud, almost like a trumpet in flesh. He and my mother, staunch monarchists, had fled Bavaria in the 30's, hateful of the populism of both the Communists and Nazis. Perhaps that was one of the reasons I could stand David better than Kaji could – I knew the aristocratic type from boyhood.

"But that still doesn't prove anything," I said, "that's another thing I know already. You've got to be... you've got to be some kind of hallucination."

He reached inside his jacket and produced a cigarette and lighter. He lit the cigarette, and held it out to me. I reached out and took it. It felt solid. I put it in my mouth and breathed in. It was a cigarette alright. And suddenly everything got a lot more complicated.

"Who are you?" I asked, suddenly feeling very nervous.

"A friend, Charles," he said.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because it seems that you're running out of them pretty fast nowadays."

I didn't respond to that. But he didn't respond to my glare, so we were even.

"What do you want with me?" I spat at him.

He leaned back in his chair. "See Charles," he said, "there's your problem. You think I want something out of you. Maybe I'm here to help you? Did you think about that?"

"Things like this... it doesn't happen. People don't just... appear! And then offer to help! I can't..." I trailed off. My breathing was labored.

"I don't need your help," I said, "not from some delusion."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh really? Then tell me, Charles, what are you planning to do now?"

I lowered my eyes to the sheets. I hadn't even thought about that.

"I need," I began, "I need to go through those notes. Try and make some sense of what Kaji wrote." I looked at him, and he motioned with his hand for me to continue. "The fact that there was an unofficial guard over the house suggests that maybe he actually was onto something. I need to learn more about Gehirn. Figure out what made him obsess over 'seele.'"

"So you're going to listen to the rantings of a mad man?" he asked.

I laughed bitterly. "I don't think I can judge Kaji anymore."

He waited until I was done chuckling. "Charles," he said, his tone suddenly much more serious, "are you sure you want to do this?"

That wiped the dark smile off my face. I stared at him. I couldn't see through him. I was silent for a moment. "And what else should I do?" I finally said. "There's nothing fucking left for me."

"And what about Agnes? Peter?" he said.

"They don't give a damn about me anymore," I replied. It was true, wasn't it? Peter had said as much, and Agnes was too conscientious to say she wanted her own father out of her life. "They want me to take the blame for Yomiko's death. And I won't do it!" I said. I was shaking, thinking about those accusing looks in their eyes. They hadn't said that, but I knew what they had thought after we left Germany. I had seen it in their actions, their behaviors.

He didn't respond. "I suppose you've made up your mind," he finally said, moving his eyes from me to the rosary, "I can only pray to God that one day you'll use that head of yours, and realize what you're supposed to do."

He got up from his chair. "What? What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Betrayal follows betrayal, and liars breed more lies. One might think a man such as yourself would have figured that out by now. Well, I suppose this is good-bye for now," he said, taking off his hat and bowing. He turned to leave, the rosary still in his hand.

"No! Damn you, don't take that!" I yelled at him as he started walking away, but he paid no attention. I picked up the empty glass on the table and threw it at him, but it missed by a hair, shattering on the wall. He turned around. He no longer smiled, but his eyes held fire in them.

"And why should I not?" he said, his voice effortlessly shaking me. "And who are you to lay claim to this? Reprobate!" My body shuddered at the word. He walked toward me, and with each step the room seemed to grow smaller around him, or maybe he grew larger. I looked at his face for a moment, but had to turn my eyes aside. Shame welled up in my breast, but I couldn't bear the thought of losing my last real link to Yomiko.

"You're a fool, who has done evil, and will not acknowledge it," he said. "Do you not repent one bit?" His voice sounded like he was pleading at that last sentence.

"I," I stuttered, "I did what I did for my country, and for my family." My voice was as steady as I could make it. "I did what I had to do." I closed my eyes tight, gritting my teeth in the expectation of some kind of reprisal.

But nothing came.

After half a minute or so my body began to relax. I opened my eyes, and no one was there. I took a deep and shuddering breath, and winced at the pain in my lower chest. My eyes glanced around the room. The chair was in the corner, my clothes still stacked on it. On the table were the pitcher of water and the empty glass. And right in front of me was the rosary. I rubbed my eyes with my hand. It had been a bad dream.

I could deal with that, I thought. I vaguely wondered if the nameless man was some kind of Jungian sign, The Father-figure in me who attacked me with what I had learned in the parish school as a child. It sounded stupid, but it let me compartmentalize what I thought had happened. I didn't need to question my own past. It was done. But now I had the beginnings of a future.

Getting to my feet slowly, I dragged the IV stand with me to my clothes, and I began fishing through them. They had been cleaned, thankfully, but also included was the thin folder of Kaji's notes. Not knowing how long I had been out, a worry began to gnaw at me that Taro had gone through them, or taken some.

A quick run-through showed that all the pieces that had been there at first were still present. I wondered if I should trust Taro's professional discretion. In that dark room, I even wondered if Taro might be ready to sell me out to whoever had killed Kaji, but then stopped. I looked at the calendar and saw how long I had been out. A week. I let out a breath. I supposed that if he was going to sell me out, he would have done it be now, and I wouldn't have woken up in the first place.

I walked back to the bed and sat down with the documents in my hands. I laid them out on the table, sliding the rosary off to the side, and began to try and piece something together.

I was up late, but a plan had begun to form in my mind.


	7. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 – Secret Agent Man**

1987. David has asked me to come see him. I'm not sure his reasons why, but I figure it's a good chance to catch up – we've talked, but haven't seen hide nor hair of each other for about two years now.

There's a professional side to this meeting, of course – I think Aurelius is building up a file on David. It makes sense; David had helped extract a KGB major by the name of Alexei D-, the same man whose ring I had been investigating after the Victoria affair in '83. I helped debrief him, and it was one of the most exhausting experiences of my life. Cross-checking every claim & reference Alexei made, wondering if he was telling the truth or inflating his own knowledge had taken a toll on me. I had thought he would give me a break in my conflict with Aurelius, but he claimed he didn't know him.

I had struck Alexei at that – I knew he was lying, but David confirmed his story. After that David convinced me to lay off the subject with Alexei. It had been maddening.

For so long I hoped for a breakthrough in my case, but even after some years I only had fragments. An age, a man who claimed to know him from the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968, and a blurry photograph supposedly of him taken by one of my men in Stockholm, those were some of the materials I had on Aurelius. So much is still conjecture.

But I know this – his spycraft is good, probably better than mine, but I can't back down at this point. I've sacrificed so much that to give up would be to dishonor those I've used as pawns, knights, and bishops.

The stakes keep being raised. Four of my people have died so far, and my retaliations have jailed, deported, or ruined the lives of plenty of Aurelius' agents.

Perhaps that's the difference between this assignment and the earlier ones with Kaji & David – there we only risked ourselves, but now my mistakes endanger others. It's a weight I can't get rid of, and I wonder if Aurelius feels the same, or is too calloused to care if he loses an agent or two.

The thoughts clutter my head as I park my car a distance away from David's safehouse. I know where a few of his are, and he knows where mine are, just in case anything goes pear-shaped. Fat drops of rain are cutting down, sounding like pebbles landing on my windshield. I grab my umbrella from the passenger's seat and open it up as I step out of my car – a mid-range Volkswagen.

Around me empty warehouses squat amid concrete parks – I'm in an industrial area not far outside Bonn. The puddles of water collecting in the depressions in the ground are large, and I walk between them. I pull my coat tighter around me as I go toward an unremarkable, low, white-painted building, it's walls smooth but for one shuttered window per side and a gray door. I can see a thin seam of light coming through the edges of the shutter, so I guess that David is here.

Going to the door, I knock a few times. After a brief wait, I hear several bolts retract on the other side. It surprises me – David's usually not so paranoid. It tells me I need to warn David about Aurelius.

The door opens, and I see my old friend's face. It's lost some of its aristocratic haughtiness through age, but as he welcomes me inside you'd think it was his manor in Kent we were in, rather than a concrete and metal box.

"Charles," he says, "it's good to see you well."

I shrug off my coat and hang it dripping on a hook, as David re-bolts the door behind me.

"You too, David," I reply.

I look around the building – it's empty except for a few tables scattered around, covered in blueprints and technical schemata. I sit down on one of them and face David. "I'm glad you called me," I say as David comes away from the door, "it's been too long, and I've got some information for you."

He raises an eyebrow at me. I don't think this was on his agenda, but I've got to warn him. "What do you mean?" he asks.

I pull out a cigarette. David declines the one I offer him. As I light it up I rub my left eye with the heel of my palm.

"I think Aurelius is building up a file on you," I say. I let it sink in for a moment. David doesn't respond, but I see his eyes have narrowed a minute amount.

"How did you find that out?" he asks after a short pause.

I blow some smoke toward the rafters, trying to act more nonchalant than I feel. "I've been getting reports of a new code-name, 'Aristotle'. And some of the reports on it match your movements." I don't mention that some of those movements match my own. It's a coincidence, and I was surprised to see that David and I had been traveling to some of the same places around Europe around the same times.

"You sure it's me?" he asks. He's keeping good control of his voice. You might think he's uninterested in it.

I shrug. "It might be. It might be someone completely different. But I thought you should know."

"What was it Kaji would say? _Shigata ga nai_? It can't be helped?" David replies. I chuckle. "I may not be such a prodigy with language as you are," he says, "but I can at least remember a few phrases."

After that, David walks into a small, square office that juts inside the room. Coming out, he carries a small bottle of wine and two glasses. I'm not terribly surprised that he has fine wine glasses in a bare-bones safehouse. Sweeping the blueprints from the table, David puts down the glassess and, opening the bottle with practiced ease, pours a generous measure into each. He hands one to me, and I take it with a thanks. I'm still a little confused. I thought David might want to ask me more details, but he seems to not care so much. Perhaps he already knew about it.

"I had hoped we could avoid talking of our profession, at least for a little while," David says, "but I thank you for the warning." He sighs, and takes a long drink from the glass. I follow. The wine is good and cool, and makes me think it's a Rhineland make.

"It's good," I say after swallowing.

David smiles. "I know you prefer your whiskey, but this was what I had on hand."

We drink in relative silence, but I can see David fidgeting with his hands. I guess he wants to ask me something about Aurelius.

"Charles," he starts after a while, "Yomiko has been asking me about you."

I stop the glass as it's at my lips, and put it down. "What? About what?"

Another sigh from David. "She's worried about you, Charles. She knows something isn't right. She's afraid you're having an affair."

I try to catch my thoughts. "What did you tell her?"

"Little. But something's going to have to change. Have _you_ told her you've seduced a good number of women over the years?"

"It's just a job," I say, more forcefully than I intend, "I don't..."

David's looking at me like I'm an idiot. "You think she'll listen to that excuse?"

"Fuck you," I shoot back, "You're not one to goddamn talk."

He shrugs. "At least my ex-wives knew I was a cad when we married. She thinks of you like one of her little plaster saints."

"Don't you talk like that. Don't even dare." This is not something I expected to hear. Does he enjoy springing this on me?

David puts his hands up in front of him. I'm not sure what to expect from him anymore. "Look, Charles, I'm just telling you what happened. You don't have to bite my head off."

I take a quick swig of wine, and realize I'm feeling a little light-headed.

"Charles, have you thought about retiring?" David asks after a moment.

I let out a breath that might be a laugh or a dismissal. "No," I lie, "have you?" I can see something in David's eye. Is he worried about me?

David's staring, not at me, but at some point over my shoulder and behind me. This is different.

"I just wonder sometimes. What do you think will happen to men like us when the Wall comes down?" he says. I take a second to parse it.

"When?" I ask, with more scorn than intended. "That's pretty goddamn optimistic of you, David. I didn't think you had it in you."

He turns his eyes to mine. "Look," I say, "that Wall? That thing'll be up for years. Decades. And as long as there's that Wall, bastards like us will have a job to do. We'll just do what we've always done."

David's eyes are stuck on mine, and I feel intensely uncomfortable under his gaze. "We can't keep going like this forever," he says, quiet at first, then getting louder, "what if Aurelius figures you out? Hell, what if he catches you? What will you do even if you finally get him? You don't know! And even beyond that," David gestures with his free hand, "the whole war is crazy. At some point a damn fool is going to push that big button, the missiles will rain over the world, and end all of us! Every single one of us, Charles." He stops for a second. "Do you understand?"

Shit. Something's wrong with David, and I have no idea what it could be, to cause him to talk about this and my wife.

"I know Reagan talks big," I start, "but he-"

"I'm not talking about that cretin, Charles! It doesn't matter if it doesn't happen now, or five years down, or ten, or 100, eventually someone's going to turn all that Man has done into dust in the hand. Don't you get it?"

David is breathing deeply now, flustered. I'm not sure he wanted to say all that, but he did, and I'm lost. He's looking at me, and I can see a tiny point in his eyes, some notion of him wanting to explain what's going on with himself to me.

"No," I say, "I guess I don't."

With that, it's gone. His eyes are hard. He takes a long drink of wine, then looks at his watch, then to me. "You should probably head out soon," he says. I nod, and do so, making sure to get my coat.

The rain has slowed down only somewhat. I make my way between the puddles to my car. Sitting down, I hit the steering wheel. "FUCK." Again. "GODDAMNIT." Something went wrong, and I'm not sure where or why. Something's changed between me and David, and it hurts.

Why had he been so worried about the future, not only our own, but the world's? Did he think of bowing out of the spy business? He obviously thought I should, but I can't. Not now. I can't worry about the fate of the world – it's not my job.

My thoughts are bitter as I drive home, and the mood creates yet another useless, painful argument with Yomiko.

They're getting more frequent than I'd like.

* * *

><p><em>April 10, 2000<em>  
><em>T-minus 156 days<em>

The sun had already set by the time my plane landed in Salzburg. After waiting a few minutes for the ramp stairs to be attached to the plane, I stepped out onto the tarmac. The yellow lights of the airport cast a pallor on the other passengers walking past me. I stretched my shoulders, and winced at the twinge of pain it created in my back. It's manageable, though. Taro had patched me up pretty well, considering the bullet that hit me had grazed my right lung. I had come close to drowning in my own blood.

After waking up, I had spent a few more days recuperating at Taro's. He challenged me to several games of Go. I didn't win a single one. He never asked me about the wound, or the notes he had to at least have noticed, and I was grateful for that. Before I left he told me that he had been approached by someone unknown to him – an American, who claimed that he had worked with me before – was looking for me. He had denied meeting me. Another event to keep in my mind. I was amassing them, now to try and find the connections between them.

Even as we played, I was forming a list of objectives to complete if I wanted to start looking into Gehirn. But still in the back of my mind 'Seele' disturbed me. 'Body' and 'Soul'. Had Takahiro just assumed one couldn't be without the other? But that was beyond my reach. Kaji had thought there was some significance to this "3rd Geological Expedition" done by the UN, so I figured I would start there. There had to be public information on it somewhere.

I was in Salzburg to reconnect with some of the assets I had left after 10 years. There was a whole shopping cart of things I needed to get done if I wanted to be smart about this, and not get caught by whomever was looking for me.

Taking a taxi from the airport into town, I found myself noticing the changes the city had gone through since I had last been there. The lights were on, but I saw fewer people on the streets, even relatively early in the evening, than I had in the 80's. Salzburg felt tired.

Going through the outskirts of the city, I headed for a live-in hotel I remembered being a good and private place. I knew I would need time to restart what fragments of my intelligence web remained. Time to send out missives and requests, and time to do preliminary research on my target. Getting out of the taxi a few blocks from where I remembered the place standing, I thought for a moment I had misremembered the neighborhood. Around me were dark buildings with barred windows, the only sounds being the electric hum of the street lamps and the distant murmur of cars.

I began walking down the street, and sure enough I noticed the street sign hung up on the outer wall of one building. I stared at it for a few moments – it was the same street as I remembered. I made my way through the empty streets to where I last remembered the hotel being, hoping it was still around. Luckily, it was. But I could see how it had fallen on hard times. The 19th century facade was cracked in several places, and a little ways down the road I could see a band of prostitutes talking amongst themselves. It didn't sound like they were speaking German. I vaguely wondered where they had come from. One of them must have caught me looking at her, as she tried to saunter towards me. I waved her off, and entered the building.

I made the arrangements with the old & bored concierge behind the front desk – I was to have a room to myself on the 4th floor for 3 months, with no neighbors. I gave him a false name, and paid the first deposit in cash. The concierge, with his drooping jowls and bad comb-over, asked no questions. Perfect. The room itself was dilapidated, and I could see one or two holes in the walls made by mice, but I could get an internet connection (an extra charge, of course), something I realized I might need these days.

The next day I went to the local branch of the Krause Bank to check the safe-deposit I had left there. Its neo-Modernist architecture stood out amongst the historical fronts of Kulasstrasse. The attempt to channel the hollow spirit of the age had succeeded too well, and the edifice seemed some insubstantial ghost of steel & glass, leeching the vitality from the buildings around it. I entered, noticing the several armed guards posted around the main floor. I went to the receptionist and gave her my account number and the signature attached to it – one Mattathias Lukacs. She lazily grabbed it and walked through a guarded door behind her. I hoped I wasn't too rusty, after not practicing the signature. Around me the normal business of the bank continued, with bored men and be-suited women coldly directing the economic fates of multitudes.

After a few minutes the woman returned, much more helpful and interested in me than before, and directed me toward the elevator to my right. I relaxed the grip on my briefcase as I quietly let out my breath; I hadn't realized I was holding it in. I made my way into the elevator, taking it to the second floor. There I passed by three more armed guards and was directed by one of them into a thin, beige-colored room, consisting of a bench on one side and a table on the other. On the table was a metal box. Standing by there was a thin man in a business suit, smiling obsequiously. I could see he had several gold teeth. He shook my hand, addressed me as "Herr Lukacs," and let me know that if I had any questions or concerns I could let him know. He mentioned that he was somewhat surprised that someone with such a sum in the bank had spent so long away from it, but he assured me that the box had been perfectly safe, even when they had remodeled the bank 4 years ago.

I made a few perfunctory answers, and eventually got the toadie to leave me in peace. I closed the door to the room and locked it. I placed my briefcase by the box, and then opened both. The box was filled with materials – mostly cash in various currencies. $100,000 in greenbacks, $50,000 in Deutsche marks, $40,000 in British pounds and francs, and $70,000 in worthless DDR marks. This was good. I didn't want to use my traceable accounts anymore, and the cash would have to do. I started moving over the bundles of paper to my briefcase, thankful for large denomination notes. As I was digging, I found other files. I flipped one open – a passport, birth certificate, and driver's license for one "Walther Helnwein," a citizen of the Federal Republic. The other files had other persons. Realizing I would need to update these, I set the other four into my briefcase as well. Closing it, it was much heavier than when I brought it in, but I imagined I would need it all in the days to come.

I had no problems leaving the bank, and getting the briefcase into a safe place in my room. That evening I began the process of renewing my false identities. Fake papers, new photographs, the whole process would take longer than I expected.

The day after that I bought myself a portable computer, and spent the evening doing searches on different websites for the 3rd Geological Survey. After two hours of frustration, I found an official description and the results of the survey from the United Nations itself. The entire report ran for almost 200 pages, so I scanned through it quickly. The genesis of the project had been in using a United Nations team composed of multinational scientists to map out areas of geographical interest in unclaimed territory – with Antarctica being the prime example. The first survey had been done on the area of Antarctica known as Graham Land in 1993, and the second on Marie Byrd Land in 1996. The third had begun in 1997, but had continued on for another Antarctic summer in 1998.

These areas had been photographed in a series of missions in the 40's and 50's, but more intense work had to wait until the past decade. The 43 scientists and workers had surveyed much of the Transantarctic mountains bordering Victoria Land. And unsurprisingly enough, most of what they found was fairly boring: low-grade coal, bauxite, iron oxides, perhaps the only thing that leaped to my eyes was the mention of oil deposits situated in Pre-Cambrian strata, but it would be decades before the pockets could be efficiently tapped.

It seemed fairly straightforward and open to me, and again doubts crept into the back of my mind about Takahiro's mental state. The only bit of data that seemed out of place was a reference to "faulty equipment" giving some strange data near Mt. Markham. Two of the technicians had testimony in that section of the report, talking about how their sensors could have screwed up that 15-kilometer chunk of land. I furrowed my brow as I read that, even though the director of the survey, Vinzenz Fichte, vouched for the story. I saved what I thought would be helpful leads – the personnel list, the list of financial backers, etc. It was the list of backers that I was most interested in – 'follow the money' was never bad advice.

I spent that night laying in bed, listening to a woman rage at her lover in the room below me. I never heard why she blew up, or if it was ever resolved.

The next day I began to look through the list of backers. Most of them were fairly obvious – mining groups, oil consortia, and the like. What interested me was the mention of Gehirn, which had donated several expensive pieces of high-end equipment. There was the official connection. But was that all? I couldn't see why the gift of equipment to a geological survey would arouse the interest of Takahiro. There had to be something else.

To look for that, I decided to see what I could find on Gehirn, and there my efforts were stymied. All I could uncover was the most irrelevant information – that Gehirn had been founded in 1952, originally called the "European Science and Technology Consortium," as a scientific and private counterpart to the European Coal and Steel Community, that it now had research laboratories in 13 states, including Germany, Japan, and the United States, and that it was a world leader in artificial limbs and "Metaphysical Biology," a term I had never heard before.

I tried to get more than that – a list of directors, tax returns, anything. And I got nothing.

After the third fruitless day, I slammed the heel of my palm on the desk. I looked around the room, and realized I was swimming in empty coffee cups, cigarette stubs, and bags of half-eaten take-out. I rubbed my temples. '_Patience_,' I tried to tell myself, '_if it were so easy, then more people would have found whatever it is you're looking for._'

It was then that I had a flash of inspiration. I got out of my chair, wincing at the dull pain the inactivity had caused me, and went out into the wet night. Like many other times I had been in Salzburg, the city was struck by intermittent rain, never lasting more than half an hour. I walked around a few blocks, until I came upon a public phone. Pulling out some coins I dialed a long unused number. I looked around, and saw I was the lone pedestrian on the stretch of street. The receiver was silent for a short time, until an automated voice told me the number was not in service anymore. I slammed the phone down, picked it back up, and tried another number. That time a young woman answered the phone, when I asked for the contact name, she said the house had been abandoned before she arrived two years earlier. I thanked her for her time while I cursed inwardly, and tried a third number.

I licked my lips as the ring tone continued. When I was just about to give up hope, the other line picked up. I heard a woman's voice, older than I remembered, with more gravel and razorblades in her throat, ask what I wanted. "The summer's days are too oft remembered," I answered. I heard the other voice draw in her breath.

"H-how," she started, but I cut her off.

"I need someone good at finding private information. Get me in contact with him. Send the details to the proper location."

A small silence. "I'll try."

"No," I reply, "you will." With that, I hung up the phone, thankful that something had gone right.

Over the next week I tried to see what else I could get. "Metaphysical Biology" turned out to be an emerging field, pioneered by two Japanese scientists, Dr. Kozo Fuyutsuki and Dr. Hiro Ayanami. What papers I could find flew over my head, but some of the abstracts, mentioning destrudo, self-conception and idealization, some kind of "AT-Field," and other terminology, I found interesting, in an academic fashion, but not really relevant to what I was looking for.

Each day over that week I would take a taxi out of Salzburg itself, past Hans-Donnerberg Park, to walk around the Kommunal Friedof. The silent monuments were rarely visited, and the bouquet in my hands gave me ready reason to be there. Each day I would check the cracked side of a mausoleum, to see if there was anything there. When the seventh day came around, a pit had grown in my stomach over the failure of anything to appear. But it was that day I found a small slip of paper, kept in a little plastic bag to keep it from getting soggy.

"_3280 Doktor Jeremias strasse. 22:30 PM. Furthest table from the door. Never call again._"

I had my appointment. Pulling out my lighter I flicked it open and burnt the paper, dropping the remaining stub onto the wet grass, where it sent a lame and thin wisp of smoke up.

That evening I made my way to the street, and looked at the address. The meeting place was a dive, and barely visible from street-level. The night was foggy, and the headlamps of the cars going past me stood out in the dark. I crossed the street, taking care not to get hit, went down the stairs and entered the building.

The bar was dim and fairly quiet. A few sullen faces turned to look at me as I appeared, but then turned back to their drinks. I quickly noticed the table I was to meet my contact, thankfully empty, and ordered a whiskey and beer from the bartender. Taking my glasses I parked myself in the cramped wooden booth, with seats that looked like they hadn't been reupholstered since the late 70's. I took off my coat and laid it across the dark brown table. I almost regretted buying them when I took the first drink of the liquor. It had almost no flavor, but rather burned the inside of my mouth. Chasing it with the weissbier helped only a little.

I kept a lookout around the room. Most people were by themselves, still in their work clothes, obviously trying to dull the pain of their monotonous day-to-day. To the right of the door the crack of billiard balls could be heard, but that was about the only noise. I ordered several more beers over the next few hours.

Near twenty minutes after 10, the door opened and in walked a fairly beautiful woman. The hem of her long coat dripped a little from the rain. Her face was heart-shaped, and she wore thin glasses. Her breasts were deep and full, but I couldn't tell more than that with her coat in the way. I could see some of the other patrons eying her as well. I was torn between frustration and desire when I saw her walk towards me. When she sat down across the table, I heard quiet mumblings directed at me. One man in particular, slightly balding but heavy-built, looked at me with anger in his eyes, and began whispering to his two friends. I resolved to watch myself when I left later. When the woman spoke to me, it was in good German, with something of an Italian accent behind it. An expatriate, probably.

"Sir," she said as I took a drink, "could you please move?"

I arched an eyebrow at that. "I'm afraid I can't do that, miss," I said.

Her attempt at a smile failed. She looked frustrated and a little bedraggled. "Uh-huh, and why not?" she asked.

I took another drink and shrugged. "I like the view from here."

She closed the top of her coat and glared. "Look," she dropped her voice low and urgent, "I'm supposed to meet a business partner, if you could please just leave this spot." She pointed to the multiple empty glasses on the table, "You don't even have to move these! Just yourself. And then when my associate and I are done, you can come back. It won't take very long. So please, just [i]go away[/i]."

I found her condescension annoying, though I hadn't realized how much alcohol I had had until she had pointed it out to me. She poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher I had left untouched over the evening.

"Miss," I said, trying not to slur, "if you want me to leave, it might be a better deal if you offer to come with me."

I wasn't very surprised when she splashed my face. I wiped my face off with the arm of my coat. She was glaring at me now. She couldn't have been much older than 30, to my eyes. Her hair was loosely pulled into a brown knot on the back of her head, and I didn't see any rings on her fingers.

"Well, you could have just said no," I eventually replied.

"Look, you pig," she said, "just get the fuck out of here." Out of the corner of my eye I could see the man who had given me the death glare earlier get out of his chair with his friends.

"Did you ever think that maybe I have something to do here?" I quietly asked.

She scoffed. "Right, a drunk like you has something important to do."

I was about to respond when we heard another voice. Mister Death-Glare was standing just a few feet to my right, a little too close. His two friends, both about my size, stood slightly behind him. The one on the right was thin and mustachioed, and on the left was a bit obese.

"Excuse me," he said to the woman, "is this asshole bothering you?"

His friend to his left didn't wait for her response, as he grasped my shoulder and pulled me out of the booth. Realizing where things were heading, I decided to preempt it. Grabbing him by the hand and armpit, I threw him onto the table, shattering a couple of the glasses and spraying water and beer in the air. I ducked under the bald man's punch, and kneed him in the groin. He let out a yell as he clutched at it.

The first man was getting off the table, a broken glass in his hand, as the third one grabbed me from behind. As the thin man got close, he raised the glass to slice at my face. Instead of struggling with the fat man, I rolled forward with him into the thin man, knocking him and another table over. I could hear more yelling, but I wasn't sure if it was us or the other patrons.

As I stood up my legs were shaky, and those few moments were enough for the bald man to clock me to the left of my eye. I fell back to the floor, and felt his boot impact my ribs. I rolled a few times, trying to get away from him, but already I was feeling exhausted. I grabbed a beer bottle that had fallen to the floor, and as the bald man came up to me I smashed it against his right kneecap. He screamed again and fell to the floor, clutching his leg.

I got back up to my feet as the fat man came running at me, his arms flung wide to his sides. I thrust out my elbow and jammed it below his sternum, knocking his breath out. He stumbled away a few steps, gasping. I kicked the back of his knee to force him down. I put my hand to my eye, and when I drew it back I saw it streaked with blood.

Grabbing another empty bottle from a table I shattered it on the edge as I walked toward the bald man, trying to get to his feet. I grabbed him by the collar and threatened him with the shards.

"Try to fuck with me more, and you're dead. Got it?" I said, speaking between breaths. Each one caused a small ache in my back.

He nodded slightly, so I backhanded him. I looked toward the bar, where the bartender was peeking over the wood. He jumped to his feet and pointed at me, and at the woman, whom I hadn't thought was still inside.

"Get the fuck out! Out! All of you! Jesus Christ!"

Chuckling, I heeded his order, heading out into the night again. The woman followed me. As I stepped out onto street level, I started coughing.

"God damn it," I heard the woman say. I turned to face her, she was speaking to herself.

"Sorry," I said.

She turned her face and looked at me with a mixture of pity and anger. "God, if you had just fucking did as I asked, none of that shit would have happened!"

I started laughing loudly at the absurdity of it all. There went my chance at getting some help. I was fucked now. Laughing felt like the only way to deal with it. My lungs hurt more, but it had to be done.

"Jesus, what are you laughing at?" she asked.

I wiped a tear, or maybe blood, from my eye. I decided to shoot for the moon, and say the password for Agency members in Austria. "The green grass grows gray in winter," I said, still laughing. I had to put my hands on my knees to stay standing.

The woman stopped dead, and turned to face me slowly. My laughing died down a little, and I noticed her staring at me in wonderment. "But it always comes back in the new year," she said.

I stopped laughing. I looked up at her. And I said the first thing that came to my mind.

"Well, shit."


	8. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 – A Chequer-board of Nights and Days**

_April 24, 2000_  
><em>T-minus 143 days<em>

Her name was Elena Graf, she had told me after the bar fight. I gave her an old one of mine – Walther Helnwein. She said to meet her the next day at an outdoor cafe she frequented, far away from the neighborhood the bar was in. I figured she didn't want to be seen with me by anyone who had witnessed the evening's events. A reasonable desire.

So it went that the next day I trudged slowly under a too-bright sun (it reminded me of some industrial lamp) to find Elena seated on a fine metal chair, sipping a caramel-colored drink. The sunglasses she wore obscured her eyes a little, but were thin, and I saw her face widen in surprise as she got a good look at me. My reaction as well when I had seen my face in the mirror in the morning. The area around my left eye was a vicious purple, but it only hurt a little when I tested it with my finger.

I gingerly sat down across the table from Elena, my body protesting all the while. A waiter appeared by my side, and asked for my order. I asked for a black coffee. When I looked back at her, Elena was smirking.

"Regretting last night, Mr. Helnwein?" she asked me. She rolled the name over her tongue, like she was playing with it.

"Only that they got a few shots on me," I replied. I looked down at my hands, at the folds of skin forming valleys and ridges on the backs of them. "I'm not as young as I used to be."

She put her glass down. "Oh really? You think you could have done better?"

I pulled a newspaper from the empty table to my left – local Salzburg news, but it was better than nothing. I started eying the front page. "Yes," I said, "I wouldn't have let that one bastard grab me, for starters." One of my hands went down to my ribs, and I winced slightly.

It wasn't too early in the morning, around 9 or so, but the cafe was fairly quiet, with the early commuters already at their jobs. A tram rolled clattering down the road behind me. The noise resounded in the back of my head as my coffee arrived.

"That's it?" she asked.

I took a sip. The coffee was decent enough. "Just about. If you'll recall, I did end up on top, so I mustn't have done too much wrong." In my mind, I could remember more than a few fights that had ended the other way, though at least those times I wasn't alone.

She shrugged, and finished off her drink. She looked around, saw there was no one within earshot. "So, what can I help you with?"

I took a light breath. "Well Ms. Graf, I need some help finding... non-public information about a certain group, primarily financial and personnel affairs related."

Her eyes narrowed the smallest amount. "Sounds fine. I'm pretty good at looking under rocks. Who?"

Another drink of coffee. I pull up the paper and scan the below-the-fold articles for a few seconds. I brought my eyes back up to hers. "Gehirn."

I couldn't see her eyes, but I could see her face sag just the smallest amount, before she took off her glasses and ran her hand through her hair. When she looked back at me her expression was a stony neutral.

"Funny," she said, "you and everyone else."

"That so?" I replied.

That made her smirk. "You really don't know? Everyone and their mother would love to get inside Gehirn. Being 20 years ahead of the competition creates a certain atmosphere of envy, you know."

"Well," I said, leaning back on the chair, "there's no need for me to get in just now. I just need to cross-check some names."

Elena sat there for a few moments, thinking. "I suppose" she said, "I can do that for you." Her eyes narrowed. "30,000. Half now, half in a month. After that, I'm done."

That was higher than I was expecting. "For just a few names? That seems a bit much. And why a month?"

We stopped as the waiter came by and saw our empty cups. He asked if we wanted anything more. I got another coffee. Elena declined. It was perfunctory, as if she really didn't care what the man did, as long as he went away.

After he was safely gone, Elena smiled darkly at me. "Well, Mr. Helnwein, you caught me at something of a bad time, so you can either go with me, or," she paused, "you can try and find someone else, who will invariably leave a trail straight back to them, and then to you. And I can _assure_ you that Gehirn takes industrial espionage _very_ seriously."

More silence. "That's a hard bargain, Miss."

She leaned forward. "Now, I've never touched Gehirn so far, but I know people who have, and who've disappeared because of it. If you really want to get into this, and want my help, you damn well better not be pissing around. Understand?"

I nodded. I had crossed the Rubicon already, hadn't I? "Yes. Yes, I get you."

"Alright then. Now," she put her sunglasses back on, "what do you need?"

We spent the next few hours discussing the matter.

* * *

><p><em>April 30, 2000<em>  
><em>T-minus 137 days<em>

Elena gave me a folder. She said they were the companies financially linked to Gehirn. I happily accepted it, though I did my best to not show it.

'_Finally, some progress,_' I thought.

* * *

><p><em>May 1, 2000<em>  
><em>T-minus 136 days<em>

As I took an early morning walk through a quiet area of town, I felt as though I were being watched. A sudden fear gripped my stomach. Looking up at the dark and silent windows, I wondered if anyone was gazing back at me through them, wondered what their intentions might be.

But there was nothing. No movement, no sound. I was alone on the street.

I shivered, but it was a cold morning.

* * *

><p><em>May 5, 2000<em>  
><em>T-minus 132 days<em>

I threw the papers down on the table between Elena and myself. She looked dispassionately at my outburst. We were in a place she had recommended – but it didn't look very lived-in.

"What the fuck is this?" I asked.

She looked up at me, standing over the table as I was. She looked beautiful, but a little tired. She almost reminded me of another woman, but I couldn't tell who. "What is this?" I said.

She kept silent. "It's bullshit, is what it is!" I yelled, filling the little apartment we're meeting in.

Elena looked at the folder. "It's the companies funding Gehirn," she said with a level voice.

I rubbed my hand over my mouth, feeling the rough stubble. I wasn't terribly angry at Elena, but I wanted to push her and see what I get.

"No!" I say, jamming my finger onto the folder, "you want to know what these are?" I leaned in to get closer. "They're fakes."

A flash of emotion went over Elena's face, but I couldn't tell if it was hurt pride or something else. "I gave you the real stuff," she said, "I wouldn't fuck someone over like that."

I sat down, and waved my finger back and forth. My grimace softened somewhat. "The names aren't fakes, it's what the names refer to."

When Elena realized I wasn't as mad as I had seemed, she softened as well. "You mean..."

I opened the folder and gestured over the text. Elena followed my hand as I spoke. "Of the 242 companies and organizations listed as donors or partners with Gehirn in particular matters, 107 are fakes."

I watched her eyes go down the list, picking out the names I had circled – real organizations. "The rest..." she said.

"On paper only. Addresses, but no buildings. CEOs who don't exist."

Elena looked back up at me. "But the bank accounts are all real, I bet."

I smiled. "Got it in one."

She grinned back at me. "So," she said, "I guess you're not as dim as you look." With that, she got up, went over to the counter behind her seat and got a glass.

I stopped for a moment. I heard water pour into the glass. "What do you mean by that?" I asked.

She didn't turn around just then, but took a drink first. It made me realize how thirsty I was. I had had a few beers the night before, but nothing over the top. I needed to stay focused for all of this, however tempting the thought of losing myself to a tumbler or a bottle was.

To take my thoughts away from drinking somewhat, I pulled out a slightly bent cigarette from my breat pocket. I flicked open my lighter and took a drag. Elena turned around as I exhaled.

"I like to make sure my clients aren't idiots," she said.

I narrowed my eyes a little. Had this been a test? But if she had never gone into Gehirn before, how could she have known which names were the real ones? Or was she just saying something to cover up a perceived misstep?

"You want some water? Or some coffee?" she asked. I tasted the smoke on my tongue.

"Coffee," I replied. She took the pot next to her and poured two cups. She placed one in front of me, and I took it eagerly. I could smell the sugar in it was before it touched my lips. Far too sweet, but it was something.

"I need something more," I told Elena eventually. She sipped her coffee slowly.

"I kind of figured that," she said, somewhat exasperated. She wasn't looking at me.

"I need people. I need to know who's been in charge of Gehirn for as far back as you can get. Heads of the organization, branch heads, project leads, important donors, whatever you can get."

Elena slowly turned to face me. "Fine. It'll take some time, though." She turned away, though, and looked toward the window, covered by a light blind. It didn't face out to anything, though. Just a thin open space the sun shone down on, followed by a wall just a foot or two away.

I was about to say something when I heard the sound of heavy feet through the wall. My shoulders raised up a little. I wondered who was out there; if they were looking for me. It sounded like several people, who didn't care much for subtlety.

I braced myself for the sound of our door being smashed down, but nothing happened. I covered up my sigh of relief by sipping on the coffee. My eyes moved to Elena, and in her own I could tell she had seen something of my fear. But her expression was indifferent. It felt almost humiliating.

"Anyway," I said, trying to regain control, "why the time limit? Are you just trying to run down the clock on me?"

She hrmphed from her diaphragm. "I would've just refused the job if that were the case." I figured she was lying.

"Even something from the Agency?" I asked.

Elena smiled at that, but it was hardly a happy one. "Honestly?" She held out her hand and made a motion with her fingers. I dug out the cigarettes again and handed her one. She lit it before speaking again. "I try to stay away from the black box agencies." She glanced at me, but I kept silent. She took a breath on the smoke. "It's more profitable that way. Less chance of getting stuck in a bad situation."

I finished off the coffee. "I can see that," I said.

Silence. I could feel her eyes searching me, trying to figure out what I meant.

"And you?" Elena asked after a minute, "What's got you so interested in a group of researchers? Is the CIA getting in on grubby scientific secrets?"

"No," I said, "no, not really."

"Really?" Elena continued, "no deep, dark secret you're looking for? Maybe some Reds are invol-"

I hit my palm on the table quickly. It surprised her; I could see it flash through her face.

"What was that for?" she asked.

"You don't need to know that," I said after she settled down. She looked at me almost sullenly, as if she really expected me to tell her why I was doing this. I figured if she was going to lie to me, I didn't need to tell her anything.

"Fine," Elena replied, "I'll..." for a second I thought she might say she would let it be, "I'll let you know when I'm ready then."

I got up to go. "Alright," I said, "tell me when you're done."

I left.

* * *

><p><em>May 19, 2000<em>  
><em>T-minus 124 days<em>

Elena had given me what she could of the personnel lists piecemeal over the course of a few days. Not the way I would have preferred to have it, but it was better than nothing. Each day I would go to the drop-off point and find something more left for me under a few stones near the Lehener Bridge.

I tried not to leave my hideout if I could avoid it, though. I found myself resisting the urge to constantly look back over my shoulder, half-expecting to find someone looking straight at me even as I melded through the crowds. Though I got the sense that no one noticed me, that I was invisible to everyone else, the feeling didn't pass.

I began to hate it. I felt hunted. I felt trapped, not knowing if there were any hunters around me. All I had were glimpses and the vaguest hints – an SUV with tinted windows following me for a few blocks, a man down the road looking straight at me, talking on the phone in another language(Spanish, I thought), and then disappearing when I got near.

My world shrank more and more each day. I only went out once or twice a day, for essentials and whatever information Elena could provide. But the dank, poorly-insulated rooms I stayed in grew smaller at the same time. I felt trapped if I stayed indoors, and under fire if I went out. My cheeks began to grow shabby with a thin gray beard. My face started to look stretched, as if there wasn't enough skin to cover everything well.

A few days in I checked some of the email accounts I had before I had left Langley. I was surprised to see several messages from Silvestre, first wondering where I had gone, then begging me to show myself, that people thought I really was going to sell secrets now. I failed to notice when Silvestre said that a British man had come to ask about me.

As the days wore down, I began to reproach myself for having been so hasty with Elena – I had no idea how trustworthy she was; the only recommendation being from a woman who never wanted to hear my voice again. I began to wonder if she was working on the side, or if she had sold me out to whomever was looking for me. But she had done nothing blatant yet, and everything she gave me was legitimate. I didn't know how she got what she did, but it had all been invaluable.

And it was the search that kept me going. Names were found, checked, cross-referenced with the list of financial backers, and slowly, oh so slowly, patterns began to emerge in front of me.

For about 10 years, from 1988 to 1998, Gehirn had been led by Director Vinzenz Fichte, the same man who had led the Third Geological Survey into Antarctica the year after his departure from Gehirn. He was a biologist by training, with a PhD from Leiden. Which of course made his appointment to the head of a geological group all the more interesting.

Fichte had been involved with several groups on the backers list, including being an associate of the "Committee for Human Instrumentality." I looked the name over twice when I saw it. Searching for it, I found it was some kind of philosophical group – interested in the salvation of Man through science. I wasn't interested. I didn't trust the men who created new weapons each and every day to find a way out of the basic problems of mankind.

But whatever my thoughts about their mission - "to redesign the human condition," as they said in their Manifesto - it had garnered a lot of interest from various quarters around the world. A Japanese physicist by the name of Katsuhito Ikari(who held the Lord Buxton chair of Theoretical Physics at Cambridge) was an associate as well. Of interest to me, Ikari was a member of the UN Committee for Scientific Literacy & Progress, another contributor of funds to Gehirn. I failed to notice his participation in the Fund for Responsible Growth, a fashionable Malthusian group with many aristocratic British donors.

Gehirn was now being lead by Director Hiro Ayanami, the very man who had begun the discipline of Metaphysical Biology. I didn't find a connection between him and the Committee, but I did find that he had been involved in some research with a student of Ikari's, one Hironobu Katsuragi. And much of Katsuragi's research into 'alternative' forms of energy (he had published one arcane article about his S2 theory of energy, which he claimed could provide energy unbound by the 1st Law of Thermodynamics) had been bankrolled by Gehirn and some associated organizations. Hironobu, married and with a teenage daughter, had been on the specialist list for the Third Geological Survey.

Connections. Like spiderwebs they brought together disparate groups. Utilitarian societies, research groups, energy companies, secularist & trans-humanist pressure groups, they all touched each other through their members, and my notebook grew thick with names, and arrows to connect them all.

But still more questions. I could see that there was a kind of main philosophical thrust behind these men, but did they actually know each other? Did they speak to each other?

Was there really a conspiracy?

Above me hung a single word, like a dark cloud.

Seele.

There was no trace of the word, no hints that anything existed that was called it. Had Takahiro merely created an agency to connect the wide-flung members of these groups, to give them a guiding mind and will? What if everything I had been studying so far was just that, an aggregate of men with a similar Weltanschauung, and they all just happened to be in the same circles? Mere co-existence didn't create plotters.

But there were too many little doubts nagging me. For the geological endeavor the survey in Antarctica was, there were too many non-geologists on it in my eyes. And in the 43 scientists and workers, 35 had only minor degrees of separation from Gehirn. There was something there, down in Antarctica, that had excited the attention of someone, there had to be.

But what? Mere oil? There were millions of barrels in easier to reach locations, like the Gulf of Mexico. A sub-glacial lake like Lake Vostok? That might interest the biologists Fichte and Ayanami, but then that left out Katsuragi. I couldn't figure it out.

But Takahiro had been convinced. He had been convinced that something known as Seele existed, and I needed to find out. One evening I looked over Takahiro's letter again, and caught the mention of the Russian, Grigory again. Takahiro thought he could help. There was an address, somewhere deep into the East. I wondered if he could.

"[i]A monstrous cabal dedicated to death,[/i]" he had written that he had been looking into. It had to be Seele. Dedicated to death? Looking over the monotonous and hamstrung language of the various manifestos, mission statements, and secular confessions, it had seemed to me that what they all feared the most was death, and that all their energy was toward futilely putting off that inevitable end, to avoid oblivion and non-existence at all costs.

On one level I could understand their desire. But I had come to terms with my own death long before, or at least thought I had. It was going to happen, I had expected it to happen by now. I couldn't remember the last day that I had been happy to be alive.

And still Seele remained as a question mark.

I couldn't just rely on the Russian Takahiro had mentioned, though. But I didn't know who else to try. Vaguely I wondered if David could help, but it had been so long since we spoke, and this was dangerous. I couldn't just bring him in lightly.

More questions kept appearing as I learned more. It all kept me up late into the nights.

* * *

><p><em>May 29, 2000<em>  
><em>T-minus 109 days<em>

A man was following me that day. Or at least, I was followed by him. He remained at a distance, and I only glanced behind myself a few times, but I kept seeing him, walking in between the slow-moving crowds. A small part of my mind wondered if it was the man I had imagined after getting shot, but he was too far to tell, and his coat obscured most of his body. I suppose mine did the same to me as well. Another thin drizzle of rain across the city that morning justified the coat, though.

I lost him, eventually. I ducked into a news shop, and hid there for some time. I flipped through the various dailies, weeklies, making sure I wasn't being followed any longer. I didn't learn too much. Severed feet had been discovered over the past few weeks after they washed up on the banks of the Salzach, but no one had an explanation as to where they were coming from. It seemed a morbid story to run, but almost all of the local papers were running it, with variations on the theme of befuddled outrage as their commentary. "What is our city coming to?" they asked.

It could have been asked in any city, any village, any country around the world. And yet there were no answers. There was no shortage of people - politicians, academics, concerned members of society – to talk and talk about what was wrong and what could fix it, what could lift this pall over our culture. They were all liars, though. It wasn't one thing that was wrong - it was everything. It was the way we lived, the way we spoke, acted, hated, and fucked. Something deep down was wrong with every single person, and everyone felt it, but couldn't speak of it.

Perhaps nothing could fix us. Perhaps we were stuck, damned to end the days of man in despair and incomprehension, unable to understand how we had ended up there in the first place.

When I returned back to my hideout, certain that I had lost my tail, I was exhausted, and fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

><p><em>June 8, 2000<em>  
><em>T-minus 98 days<em>

I followed Elena in secret for several days. From afar, I watched and noted down her movements. It felt natural to do so, like stepping back into a pair of worn-in shoes. The rhythms of watching someone else came back to me quickly, as well as the eye for seeing the right details for the time.

She went about the city unconcerned, thoughtlessly. Not once did she nervously peer over her shoulder, or stop in the middle of the street to scan the people around her. She lived her life like anyone else would. It looked like she worked from her apartment, only about 2 miles from my own, as she spent most of her afternoons and evenings there. At night she might leave for a nightclub or elsewhere with a few other women. Some of her friends, I guessed.

I found no evidence of her meeting with any other clients or superiors, until I saw a young man enter into her apartment with her on the fifth night of my watch. He was a little shorter than Elena, with a mop of dirty blond hair. He had patchwork and threadbare clothing, and an air of cultivated indifference - a wannabe artist or some such. They had known each other for a long time, that I could tell from the way they walked, but there was something between them that night. That was even easier to see.

They entered the front door around 9 PM. By the time I was breathing deep from a new cigarette, I could see the light from Elena's apartment on the 5th floor switch on. Making sure no one else was on the street, I pulled out a pair of binoculars I had bought from an outdoors store. I could only see the tops of their heads through the window from the street.

Putting the binoculars back in my coat, I looked at the buildings around me, cursing myself as I realized I should have checked the angle earlier. Walking down a nearby alley, I found a low-hanging fire escape that led to the roof. The building was a little higher than Elena's, but I thought I might have a better view from up there. Dragging a small trash bin near the ladder of the fire escape, I balanced on top of it before making the jump and scrambling onto the ladder. As I kicked off the bin, though, I tipped it over, and with a resounding clanging it hit the ground. Three cats fled from the alleyway at the noise.

With a few strangled grunts, I pulled myself onto the first metal platform. I had to take a few deep breaths, but at least it no longer hurt like it had a few weeks earlier. I got back onto my feet, and began walking up the stairs, feeling a wind from the Alps blow through the city.

On the roof, I could look across the city – it was mostly dark in the suburbs, in contrast to the too-many lights of the Altstadt. Crouching down I walked toward the edge of the building facing Elena's apartment. A lone car sped down the street between the buildings, and I could hear the faint conversation of two pedestrians.

Pulling out the binoculars again, I trained them on Elena's windows. The one nearest the center of the building looked into her living room, and to its left I could see into her bedroom through the glass doors leading onto her balcony. It was neat, but somewhat bare. In her living room I saw a few labeled boxes. I guessed that she really had been telling me the truth about not being around longer than a month or so.

Elena and her companion appeared in the living room. They had some food with them that looked like generic East Asian take-out. They sat down on the remaining couch, and turned on the television I couldn't see. I could see them talk a little, but I had never been great at reading lips. It made me wish I had the wiretaps and bugs I used to have at my disposal. More than once I had sat at a typewriter, listening in on someone's most personal dealings while trying to find something important, usually some kind of lead toward Aurelius.

For about a half hour they kept that up, until the young man began trailing his hand along Elena's upper thigh. She was receptive to his advances, and they began kissing and fondling each other. Putting down the binoculars, I rubbed my eyes. I was feeling tired, and I knew what was coming – it was a scene I had been a part of more times than I could count. I put my back to the balustrade and waited.

I wondered, as I gazed up into the night sky, the few stars that could be seen through the light pollution shining dimly, who had been the first of them to initiate matters. Elena seemed like a forward woman. I had always begun such affairs in my time, but it was easy for me to picture her taking a man for herself. But as that image came into my mind's eye, I felt a little sick with myself. But even as I sat there, watching a few dark clouds pass high overhead, sometimes obscuring the half moon, my chest tightened, and I became acutely aware of how long it had been since I had slept with a woman.

I sat like that for at least forty minutes before I looked back toward the window. The blinds had been drawn over the bedroom, but incompletely. The lights were dim, but I could see the forms of the two moving around the room. Suddenly, I saw one of them pull open the blinds and slide open the door to the balcony. I ducked underneath the brick lip. I had a glimpse of the face, it was Elena. But now I wondered if she had seen me, or a glint from my binoculars.

I sat there for a few moments, until I could hear Elena's voice. She sounded unusually strident. Her companion's voice got louder as well. With the wind, I could hear snippets of their talk, but nothing complete. It had to be an argument. I could have laughed. They seemed to follow me around wherever I went.

The two went back and forth at each other for a few minutes. Like any argument between lovers, neither gained the upper hand or resolved anything between them.

I heard the boy yell in frustration. Elena cried out, "Wait, no!"

Fearing the worst, I stuck my head out just above the parapet to see if Elena was alright. She was, thank God. But she was looking back into the building, her bath robe swaying in the wind. Her body was tensed, as though she wanted to run after the boy, but she kept still. I saw her body flinch, and assumed it was at the sound of her front door slamming shut. I had done that before.

Elena stood there, looking back into her apartment for several minutes. I saw the young man leave by the door he had entered through on the street. He was dressed, and walked away quickly with his head down.

Looking back up, Elena hadn't moved from her position. I was a little nervous about what she might do. I thought she was a level-headed young woman, but I had been wrong about people before. But after a few more minutes, I could see her shoulders shaking. Slowly, she sank down along the metal balcony until she was hunkered down on the floor. She kept crying.

As I watched her, I suddenly felt like I shouldn't have been there, that I should have let this night of hers pass alone, and that maybe I shouldn't have followed her around the past several days in the first place. But I had to make sure she was trustworthy, and how else was I supposed to do that?

Slinking away, I climbed back down the fire escape and left the area. Before I went back to my place, though, I left a message for Elena for us to meet the day after next.

* * *

><p><em>June 10, 2000<em>  
><em>T-minus 96 days<em>

I had reached the limit of what I could find. A tangled web of people, a proliferation of degrees. Gehirn had its fingers everywhere, from cutting edge computing (led by one Dr. Akagi), to the Artificial Evolution Laboratory in Japan (where both Kozo Fuyutsuki and Katsuhito Ikari's terribly gifted daughter, Yui, worked), to being part of the European Organization for Nuclear Research, to a thousand other pies.

I needed a new source, or a new lead, and I wasn't sure I could stay in Salzburg for it. I had begun making plans to leave the city, to travel into Russia and find the Grigory that Takahiro had mentioned. But before I left, I needed to make sure I had tapped everything I could.

I hurried to the bus terminal that Elena and I were supposed to meet at. The night before I had run across a voluptuous woman with hair the color of beaten bronze, and had spent the night with her.

I got into the building, all steel frame and glass, and glanced around the crowds. I couldn't see her, so I weaved through the crowds of summer tourists on their trips to the Untersberg or other Alpine peaks, until I found a place to sit and have a small glass of wine. But before I could order something, I felt a hand tap my shoulder.

I turned suddenly, and saw Elena. "You're late, Walther," she said as she took the seat in front of me. I was about to respond when the waiter came by, and I ordered my little wine. All the while Elena sat there, studying me. I became acutely aware of my somewhat disheveled appearance.

The wine was brought to me, and I stared back at Elena. "Good morning," I said. She kept looking at me, almost picking me apart with her eyes. I took a sip of wine. It was barely decent. I used the opportunity to look her over – a few black rings around her eyes, and little makeup on.

"So," she eventually said, "when did she leave you?"

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Who?" I asked.

"Your wife," Elena replied. "When did she leave you?"

I pulled the wine glass to my lips, and drank a little more than I had intended on. "She died," I said. A computerized voice called out the time over the PA system – 9:30 AM.

"That wasn't what I asked," Elena said. "When did she leave you?"

"And I told you, she died!" I hissed at Elena, with more venom than I expected. I had to restrain myself. "She died back in '88. A truck crashed into her car."

I knew that Elena could tell she had struck me hard, maybe harder than she had intended. "Why are you asking me this?" I said.

Elena pointed generally toward me. "You've got a semi-visible hickey under your collar, you're not wearing a wedding ring, and there is just a reek of cheap perfume around you." I said nothing. She continued. "You don't look so young as to never have married, so I thought..."

"You thought wrong," I said. I was going to end it there, but I kept talking. "I... my wife and I loved each other very much. Not a day goes by where I don't think about her."

It was true. What else was there to do in the dark, laying in bed, either alone or with a woman whose name I'd forget the next day? What else was there to do except think back on when I was more than just a ghost?

I realized I had been silent for several seconds. I looked back at Elena. There was something in the way she moved her hands, it reminded me of Agnes when she was an agitated teenager, afraid her mother or I would call her out on something.

"Sorry," she said, "I- I shouldn't have brought it up."

We both sat there a little awkwardly.

"I need to ask you something," I said.

Elena looked back up from her hands to me. "If it's something about the job, it's too late, I'm done now. You've got what you've got."

"It might be about it, it might not," I replied, "but I have to ask you this: have you ever come across a group called 'Seele'?"

I thought she might have stiffened at the name, but I couldn't be sure. She took a few moments to think. She looked like she was wracking her brain to see if she had. Or maybe she was trying to come up with an easy lie.

"No," she said, "I can't say I have."

"At all? Maybe as an acronym? Maybe a scientific group?"

She shook her head, and her hair swayed a little with her. "No, I don't think I've ever heard of it. Are you sure that's the name? Are you sure it's in German?"

I sighed. "It should be. Or at least, I can't see why it would be in another language."

Elena held her chin in her hand. "It's new to me." She looked me in my eyes again, but without the searching quality from before. "Why do you ask?"

It hit me for an instant, a deep desire to tell her the truth. To tell her why I was doing this, why I couldn't leave the investigation of a dead friend unfinished. And maybe, if I told her the truth, she might help more. She was obviously good at her job, and I was all alone on this. If I just said a few words, if I just opened up something of myself, then-

But I couldn't.

I began wondering how she really had found out that I had been married. I didn't remember the woman from last night wearing so much perfume, or biting me that hard. At least, I wasn't sure how she should have been able to figure my activities out like she had. It suddenly hit me that maybe she had turned her resources toward me, and had found out some of my other identities.

No, I couldn't trust her. Not with this.

"Just a hunch," I finally said. Elena shrugged in response. We made futile conversation for the next half hour, before she left. But my mind had already left, and was working on the next stage.

I would find Grigory, and I would get whatever secrets he had to Gehirn and Seele. I could do nothing less.


	9. Chapter 7

**Chapter**** 7**** – ****The**** Worm**  
>"<em>But <em>_I __am__ a __worm,__ and__ no __man: __the __reproach __of __men, __and__ the __outcast __of __the __people._" - Ps. 21:7

_June __21, __2000  
>T-minus<em>_ 84 __days_

It had taken a few more days after I saw Elena last to set the last of my business in order. I had updated versions of my various passports, and still had a healthy supply of cash left. I also had an address, but I had no idea how dated it might be. With my luck, Grigory might have already fled to another town, or even the country entirely. Or maybe he was dead, or was a plant to lure me in to a trap. But I did my best to not think about that.

To try to make my travels more discreet, I decided on taking the railways into Russia. It would be slow going – at least a week on the road, as opposed to a few hours flight – but I hoped there would be less scrutiny of rail passengers.

On the day I left Salzburg, I breathed easy. I had gotten out of the trap I felt I had been in. I no longer felt like unseen eyes were following my every move, documenting everything I did. I felt like I could almost relax while I was on the move. To capitalize the down time, I had bought a German translation of _The__ Brothers__ Karamazov_ to help occupy my mind.

I wasn't sure the exact reason I had bought it – it had been my father's most beloved piece of literature, but I had disliked it when I read it in university. It had always felt so bloated, too unwieldy for me to really believe the changes in the characters. Their actions seemed almost uncaused, after which they (and Dostoevsky) tried to rationalize them. But when I saw it in a window display, something compelled me to try picking it up again.

Both the novel and the ride went quickly. I passed through Hungary, and the border guard barely glanced at my British passport.

It was the night after I had passed L'viv when I had my first nightmare in years. I couldn't remember much after waking up, except a feeling of crushing cold that froze my soul. As I blinked a few times I reached for Yomiko's rosary in my coat, where I still kept it. But it wasn't there.

My eyes awoke and I looked at the seat in front of me. There, reading the Ukrainian newspaper I had been using to brush up on some of my Russian, was the man I had seen after waking up in Taro's house. He looked exactly the same as he had before, and he whistled as he read. In his free hand he ran the rosary beads through his fingers.

"You shouldn't take what isn't yours," I said. It was only after I began speaking to him that I worried that someone might overhear me speaking to a hallucination. I glanced around, and the only other passenger was an overweight businessman about 30 feet ahead of me.

The nameless man looked up from the paper. "Ah, you're awake – good! I was getting a little bored with the paper – nothing I hadn't seen before, you know." As he spoke the beads kept gliding through his hand – two every second.

I rubbed the back of my neck, sore from having slept sitting up. "What do you want this time," I asked, "haven't you already said what needed to be said?" I groped for the novel, and finding it, thumbed to where I had left off. I studiously kept myself from watching my interlocutor.

He left me like that for a minute or two. "She's going to die, you realize that," he said. And as much as I tried to ignore it I couldn't – his voice was like a lead weight which hit my chest.

I looked up from the novel, and smiled sarcastically. "You should have told me that when it mattered."

I could still remember what had happened last time, how he could cow me with a word, but there was something to him that just made me mad, that made me want to contradict and negate. But he refused to be taken in by my bait. He sat in silence, looking through me.

"You already knew it 12 years ago, though you proclaim ignorance. But it always matters," he intoned, "it mattered then, it matters now, it will matter in two and a half months. Death may not be the worst of evils, but no man should deliberately place himself or another in its way."

I snarled at him. "You goddamn lie! Elena's out, just like she said! Her part's played out in this." I settled back into my seat, feeling uncomfortable on the old upholstery. "And besides," I continued, "she made a deal with me. She knew she was getting into the deep end, and I didn't tell her otherwise."

I looked out the window to my left. In the night, trees whipped by, interspersed with wide fields. In the distance the faint lights of small towns on the plain could be seen. The sound of the clattering tracks was loud in my ears.

I was silent for a little while. I kept expecting the man to say more, but there was nothing. It was only when I heard a faint murmuring that I turned my head back to him. I made out a small bit of what he was saying: "..._O __clemens, __o __pia, __o __dulcis_..."

"Will you stop that!" I yelled, realizing what it was he was saying and hating him for it. He ignored me and finished. Kissing the crucifix, he locked his eyes with mine.

"You still don't get it, do you?" he said. "You think I'm some amalgamation of your guilt toward your father and your wife, a monster of the sub-conscious conditioning of your youth. No." He shook his head. "I'm far, far worse than that."

I started shrinking away from him. He stood up. "You think, for some reason, that to live with guilt is normal, that it is merely the result of your rational and ethical decisions crashing against the rocks of a religious childhood. But I say to you, that it is false, that man was not meant to live like that."

I pushed myself until my back was against the glass. "Must you torment me?" I spat out.

"You don't know torment, Charles! You've been given a thousand chances to be rid of it, and yet you persist on a course of your own damnation!" His voice dropped. "Can you really think any of them would rejoice in seeing you end like that?"

I cringed from him, curling my body to try and make myself smaller. It was humiliating, but I was scared of him. "I didn't do anything wrong, I didn't do anything wrong!" I hissed as I clenched my teeth and screwed my eyes shut. I rocked back and forth, waiting for the blow to fall with my hands over my head. When nothing happened, I ventured to unwind myself.

I was alone again. I coughed a few times, and wiped away the tears that had come to the corners of my eyes. I hurt, but it wasn't in any one place – it was as though my body had been racked. I checked my coat pocket again and, finding the rosary, clenched it to my breast. It took many hours before I could close my eyes again, and I didn't read any more of the novel. I hadn't even passed the murder.

* * *

><p><em>June<em>_ 26,__ 2000  
>T-minus<em>_ 79__ days_

Kungur sprawled and squatted blackly among the foothills of the Ural mountains. As the train approached from the West, I could see the faint clouds of smoke rising into the morning sky from a few chimneys, though those were surrounded by a forest of silent stacks. Summer had arrived here, but the fields of grass and flowers ended as we came closer to the town, rreplaced by the gray and dark brown of asphalt and gravel.

The train wound its way through the industrial outskirts until it arrived at the small station that lay between the old factories and the center of town. There I grabbed my light baggage and stepped off. A few white clouds drifted thoughtlessly above, but the air had the oily smell of burnt coal, though the trains must have switched to electric power years ago. A few other people got off the train with me, but more got on. After a few minutes it whistled, and chugged off further East into Siberia. I had left my Dostoevsky on it.

I took a room at a hotel near the city center. When I was set inside of the room overlooking part of the old town, I got a map and sat down at the small writing desk near the window (from which I could see the domes of St. Nicola's Cathedral, and its whitewashed walls). I took out Kaji's letter, and jotted down the address he had given for Grigory – Apartment 411, Building B, 213 Gorky Road. Checking the map, I found the road near the industrial districts.

The next day I walked out there in the afternoon. As I passed from the tourist-oriented city center, the years set into the buildings badly. The Soviet past was close to the surface in those places – massive apartment blocks, thin and pot-holed roads, and graffiti everywhere. My Russian was decent enough and I could figure out most of it - "Foreigners out," "Fuck the Police," or "Eat the West." For a people who had only kicked the Communist government out less than a decade ago, I was surprised at the vehemency. But I looked around the neighborhood I was in – I suppose at least the Soviets had tried to alleviate the terrible conditions they created, even if most of the time it was too late anyway.

As I passed farther into the outskirts, the buildings grew taller and more decrepit, and I thought I could hear the sound of the factories pounding away in the distance.

I grew disoriented, and realized that I had lost my whereabouts. I couldn't see any street signs, and the few others I saw on the road kept their distance from me. I tried to take a few breaths and mentally retrace my steps, but it all got muddled at some point. A few stripped-down cars stood in silent judgment over me. And I thought I could still hear the pounding, syncopated, deep, and low, as if someone was creating World War III in the distance.

I came to a crossroads, but none of the ways looked better than the others. I went left, for no other reason than it was closer to me. I put a hand to me forehead, and I found it covered in cold sweat.

I felt like I was stumbling along, but none of the people I passed made a move to help. They turned away and went on with their lives. The failing apartment blocks leaned over me like ancient prisoners over a new convict, happy in their misery to have a new companion. After a time that felt too long, no matter what it was, I finally had enough of my confusion, and grabbed the next person I came across.

She was young, very young, 16 at the oldest. She wore old and ripped jeans, and a faded sweatshirt with the hood up, even though it was verging on hot that day. When I took her by the shoulder, the hood fell back, and I saw her wince at the light, even though the sun was now behind one of the buildings. She was scared.

"Let go of me!" she said. She tried to wrench herself free, but I kept on her.

"Gorky road," I croaked out. The resounds were coming closer, and from every direction, and now sounded like the footfalls of a giant. I needed to find Grigory.

"Pl-please let me go!" she said again, and she shivered.

"Gorky road," I repeated, slowly, like I would talk to an idiot.

Finally hearing what I said, she stopped fighting, and pointed behind her to her right. "That way," she squeaked.

I was about to bring her along with me, when I really took a look at her. She had two missing teeth, her hair was ragged and falling out, and she trembled like we were in a blizzard. I wondered what it was – heroin, maybe?

I let her go, and she ran off as fast as she could. "Jesus Christ," I said to no one. But following her frantic pointing, I passed two more roads and found Gorky. I checked my watch, and no more than 2 hours must have passed, though it had felt much longer.

Weeds and cracks ruled the sidewalk in front of the massive building at 213. A few of the windows were smashed, and looked like they had been for a long time now. The door was open, the handle lolling down with gravity. I went inside, and the pounding became distant again. As the door slammed back into its frame behind me, I could hear a lone dog begin barking at the sound.

If the exterior had looked bad, the interior was worse. I found the elevator, but the door opened into a dark and empty shaft. I looked down into the gloom and kicked a small rock into it, hearing it splash into a pool of water one or two more floors down.

Turning away from that I looked for the stairs. I passed through the cramped hallways, trying not to look too closely into the doors that didn't close all the way. Some of the jambs had been smashed in, and I could see that more than a few had been looted haphazardly. I found the stairs and went up several flights. Most of the lights were broken in the stairwell, leaving only a few recessed lamps blinkering on the concrete. I thought I heard someone scuffle their feet on the level above me, but when I turned the corner on the next landing, no one was there.

Denying the small knot of tension in my stomach, I proceeded to the 4th floor, and looked for Grigory's number. The hall was filled with old metal chairs, and I found it easier to just weave between them than shove them out of my way. Through the walls, I thought I could hear a group of men yelling with each other. But I found the door. I prayed he would be there.

I knocked on the door, and it was silent. I knocked again, more insistently this time. I could hear some shuffling behind the door. I pounded my fist against it for a third time. After a second, I heard a voice from behind it speak.

"Wh... who is it?" A man, who sounded only a little older than I was. But his voice wavered and almost cracked. He sounded scared. But it sounded oddly familiar, like I should have recognized it.

"I'm here to see Grigory Vassilievich," I replied. I received more silence from his end. I tapped my foot for a few seconds.

"Mr. Vassil-" I started, before I was cut off.

"I don't have the money yet," he said, rushed and breathless, "but I can get it soon, I swear. Just give me some time and-"

"Grigory," I said, trying to get his attention.

"-we can both go our separate ways, right? Just a few more days, I swear to God Himself, you can have your money, Antony, and-"

"Grigory!" I said louder. He stopped talking. "I'm not here for your money." I paused, waiting for a response, but got nothing. "I need to speak with you," I finished.

I heard the click of Grigory looking through the eyehole. I stared at the tiny glass bulb.

"What do you want from me?" he asked.

"To be let in, damn you!" I growled.

A few seconds passed, and I heard the sound of several locks and bolts being drawn. The door opened inwards, and the first thing that hit me was the smell. A rank stench of unwashed and disintegrating manhood wafted out, and I had to cough a few times. The doorway opened into a short hallway before branching to both directions. I heard Grigory move into the room to the right, and so I followed him in and closed the front door behind me, and my first view of his home surprised me.

Every surface was covered in trash, or old yellowing newspapers, or plates of half-rotten food, or other unrecognizable material. I could make out at least one copy of _[i]The__Protocols__of__the__Elders__of__Zion[/i]_, its cover illustrated with a vicious stereotype of the "plotting Jew," on a rusting table in front of me. Around it in a small pile were a collection of old Soviet handbooks on Marxist Theory – I noticed Andrei Vyshinsky's name, Stalin's loyal dog, among them but didn't recognize the others. The orange wallpaper was faded, cracked, and peeling off in many places. Water stains, brown with age, hung like pieces of art. I turned to where Grigory had gone.

Grigory had his back to me, wearing a tattered and badly patched dark green coat, his hair all gone except for a tonsure of oily hair around his skull, walking shakily to two small wooden chairs. He turned around and sank into one. He was old and ugly, with wispy hairs growing from his ears.

Next to him was a low table with a pile of empty or half-finished bottles. The smell of bad vodka stung my nostrils, but at least it smelt cleaner than everything else. On the wall to my right was a small iconostasis, bad reproductions of classic icons with small bits of Orthodox kitsch, all surrounding the fading black and white picture of a teenage girl. He took a glass and poured himself a generous portion, then tipped it all into his mouth before pouring a second. His eyes turned to me, small and dark.

"What do you want from me?" he said, resigned but still eying me warily.

"You have access to information about the organization called Gehirn. I need to see it."

He seemed to draw into himself a little bit. It hit me that he might think I'm here to catch him, just as I had worried he might be for me.

"W-what? Ge-?"

I sigh. "Do you know of Gehirn?"

"Gehirn?" He stopped for a moment, "wait, yes, yes I think I remember." His face lost some of his fear and grew into a little sneer. "Some little yellow man wanted to know about them a few years ago. I remember him. He was weak, I could tell." Two things came into my mind, the first was that this was definitely the trail that Kaji had used, and the second was how satisfying it would have been to punch his goddamn lights out for saying that about my friend. But Grigory couldn't tell what violence I wished to do to him.

"I can pay you," I responded. His eyes lit up at that. "But I need to know if you're willing to help me, first."

"Help? Help? Sure, fine. I'll help you. But it'll cost you. Bribes have gotten even more expensive these days. The Jap paid good money for the help, though, but not enough. It wasn't enough. The bastard jewed me out of my payment. That's right. I should have asked for more," he said to himself, seeming to forget I was there for a moment. He looked straight at me. "Do you have dollars?" I nodded, and he grinned, showing me his decaying teeth. "Good, good." The change in his demeanor was striking. He started muttering to himself, and I heard 'Antony' several times.

"What can you get me on Gehirn?" I asked, but Grigory was in his own world now. "Gehirn, Grigory!" I said, forcing my voice a little harder. It surprised Grigory out of his thinking.

"Huh? Oh, whatever you want about them!" His hand was shaking excitedly, nearly spilling the clear alcohol.

"What do you mean?" I wanted desperately to loosen my tie, the heat and the smell were suffocating me so badly. When Grigory threw off the shit covering the other chair, I took it.

"I meant just that, whatever you want. GRU had a few people on the inside before that bastard Yeltsin and his toadies got rid of the best of us in '98. Dossiers, blackmail material, project listings, anything you want. There's got to be at least 20 boxes of the stuff in the archive."

I nearly staggered at that thought. "How important were your people?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know. No directors, but maybe they knew them."

"And where's the archive?" I asked. Grigory laughed in response.

"Oh no, not yet. You pay me first, and then I can get you in." He finished yet another drink. He was excited, shaking with it. He leaned in close to me, conspiratorially. "But how did you know to find me?"

"A friend told me I could get some help from you," I replied.

Grigory laughed dismissively. "I'm sure. Help. Yes, help!" He waved his arm in front of himself. "You think I can help myself, let alone anyone else? Hah!" He finished his vodka, and poured a third glass. He pointed at me. "Look at all this, this is all I have left. This is everything!"

I sat in silence.

He continued. "Everything, damn it all! Me! Grigory Vassilievich, one of GRU's best men." My ears perked at that, but I tried not to show it in my face. My mind raced, trying to remember his voice. I wondered if he could be Aurelius himself.

Grigory spat, but it was more breath than spit. "It all went wrong, I tell you. It all went wrong. It started with that traitor Gorbachev, that rightist! That revisionist! The snake! The generals should have shot all of them when they had the chance!" He was shaking hard. "If it weren't for them, I wouldn't be, I wouldn't be, like this." The smell of vodka on his breath nearly made me gag. "They took everything from me." His voice was subdued at the end.

"Where were you assigned?" I asked.

He had to swallow the swig in his mouth before answering. "Europe. Did my best to keep the capitalist pig-dogs awake at night and afraid." He laughed stupidly for a moment. "I was one of the best, you know. The best! Even Mischa thought I was better than him."

My throat was suddenly horribly dry. "You... you don't know the name Aurelius, do you?"

He looked at me quizzically. "I... I don't remember it, no." His eyes narrowed. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Viktor," I replied without hesitation.

Grigory took another drink, and gulped a little too greedily – he coughed twice. "You're not Russian, then? Well, you're speaking it well enough. But with that accent..." His brows furrowed as he thought. "You must be one of those DDR men, aren't you?"

I shrugged.

He spat on the ground again. "Traitors," he said, "just like those damn Poles. Fascists, the lot of them! Stalin should have shot every single one of them." I wondered how many people he had shot in his years in GRU. "But no, he was merciful enough to try and show them true socialism. And they betray their liberators! The Wall was for their benefit, you know! And now, and now look at us all. Mother Russia, beaten and on her back, her leaders splaying her legs for filthy capitalists and Jews to fuck for pennies!"

Grigory's eyes were unfocused now, and all I could see in them was hate. Seeing the cringing little man change like that made me think of a bit of Auden:

"_Behind__ each__ sociable__ fun-loving __eye  
><em>_The private massacres are taking place -  
><em>_The__ rich,__ all__ women, __Jews, __the __human __race._"

Grigory put down his glass, and started drinking straight from the bottle. "What does the East have now? Democracy? Hah! They're all too stupid to know how to vote right in the first place. From the Czechs to the Romanians, they're all fools! They gave up the future of Marxism, the inevitable revolution, so they could play-act like they could control their lives. Bah!'"

I was growing tired of Grigory's ranting, but I wanted to get a little more from him. "Did you ever know the Western agent Aristotle?"

He stopped, just about to launch into another condemnation. A little clarity seemed to return to his eyes, a sharpness that had been dulled through years of sorry neglect and nursed injuries. For a moment I could imagine him as he might have been, tall and proud in a khaki uniform. "Aristotle? Aristotle. Wait, yes. Yes, I think I do remember that one. I... I was to find something out about him. He was... he was Spanish, wasn't he? No. Irish! No... I-I can't quite remember now."

Fuck. No, this couldn't be Aurelius, I thought. He was too small, too broken to have a relation to that giant I fought against. But this was frustrating. Someone from the heart of GRU, who could have told me who Aurelius was, unable to remember something so goddamn simple. But I didn't want to push him harder. Not yet. There would be time to put the screws to Grigory, but I had my new lead, loathsome as he was.

I stood up, reached into my coat pocket, and pulled out a thousand dollars. Grigory's eyes bulged from his skull at the sight. "Consider this a down payment. We'll meet again tomorrow morning at the statue of Starets Sergius. Do you understand?"

Grigory's eyes didn't move from the stack of cash in my hand. "Yes, yes of course, Viktor. Radonezhsky. Near St. Nicola."

I kept the money in front of him. "And you'll tell me what needs to happen so I can see this information on Gehirn." He nodded eagerly. "And you will tell _no __one_ about this, you understand me?" He looked at my face again, nodded. "You _will_ regret it if you do," I finished. After I said it I wondered if it was necessary, but I figured I might as well establish right now who was in charge.

"Alright, alright, I'll be there, no problem," he replied.

I tossed the thin bundle at Grigory, who fumbled and spilled some of his drink to catch it. The stain darkened his brown pants on the tops of his thighs. He quickly started counting them. I snorted at his reaction, and walked out.

That night I found myself examining the city center on foot. It had been at least 14 years since my last visit to Russia, but that had been to Moscow, not to the outskirts like Kungur. My feet pulled me along, going where they would. I had no destination in mind, until I noticed in the near distance a few cyan onion domes. Pricked, I went nearer. I came to the Church of the Transfiguration, its windows beaming from within and its tall white walls illuminated from without, I could hear the Divine Liturgy from the inside. The sound was beautiful, but it made me even more aware of how far outside of that world I was. My beads burned on my breast.

A small group of people milled about outside. I wondered if they were like me, drawn to what they saw, but unable to bring themselves to walk the few feet into it. Maybe they had stained their souls too much to ask for forgiveness as well. I thought back to Grigory's icons, and wondered what he thought when he looked at them. Did he pray for mercy? Did he expect it? How did he look at that image of Christ crucified and reconcile it with himself? Did he even try?

And for the first time in my life I wondered. Did I ever try?

The memory of that nameless man appeared before my eyes, with a feeling of fear and resentment in my core. Yomiko had never condemned me like he had. I leaned against one of the walls and shut my eyes tight. No, she had always accepted me, even when I told her I couldn't go to Mass with her and the kids, or that I'd be gone for two weeks starting the next day, or the other hundred problems I had brought. Even through the terrible arguments, she had always loved me, and I her. But then why had she left, that last night?

'_I__ have __to__ go, __I __have __to__ go_.'

I found myself crying. But why? Why now? And why were people starting to look at me? I saw at least two faces hurriedly turn their eyes away when I met theirs. God damn it.

Embarrassed and ashamed, I went north from there. I passed a bronze statue of some bearded merchant, and after half an hour I found myself at a kind of pawn shop. Something moved me there, a premonition or omen, and 15 minutes later I found myself walking out of it with an old 10-round Makarov, an extra full magazine, and a holster for them. I had handled Makarovs before, and after I had stripped it down the parts had looked good enough to carry with me for a little while. Behind the building, I put the holster on underneath my coat, tightening it around my right shoulder and left ribcage. I wanted to test the pistol, but I couldn't think of a way to do it without alarming people.

But I had some more defense against any pursuers now. I almost hoped that I wouldn't need it.

* * *

><p><em>June <em>_29, __2000  
>T-minus<em>_ 76 __days_

I kept hold of Grigory's attention with dollars. 200 here, 500 there, for good behavior. But he was antsy, constantly threatening to leave back for Kungur. He said he didn't feel good, that he was worried something might happen. I did my best to calm him down. The day before, I forced him to stop drinking so much. I wanted something of the insight he must have had once, and the vodka was only dulling him. The archive was held just outside of Perm, the oblast capitol about 100 kilometers north of Kungur.

Every once in a while I would try to press Grigory on his time in GRU. He sullenly refused to speak about most of it, though it wasn't from forgetfulness this time. I wondered if he didn't want to think about what he did, or what had happened because of it. I figured he must have lost someone to it as well – the woman from the photograph – a young wife? A daughter? A lover? But there was no answer from him. I decided that his help on the Gehirn material was too important to jeopardize with my personal questions. At least, until I got what I needed.

So it was that deep in the middle of the night, a mere sliver of the waning moon gleaming in the sky, that I stood with Gregory in the midst of a huge complex of old Soviet office buildings, the brick walls silently menacing. The car I had bought was hidden in an alleyway far behind us. It had cost a thousand dollars to get the gate guard to turn a blind eye to our entrance, but I still had plenty left to use.

Grigory pointed out an arched metal door with a flashlight. The building around it was long, with three stories above the ground. Dark windows on every floor at 15-foot intervals hid the interior from sight. "That's the entrance," he said, "it should be unlocked. I gave the guy enough for him to unlock it."

I kept my eyes on the door. "If it isn't, we'll break it down," I said. I didn't see any movement, or even the hint of movement from the windows. We were alone.

We made our way to the entrance, and Grigory tried the handle. It opened with a heavy clunk, and the door swung inside. We found ourselves in a small square hall, with metal stairs leading to gangways and the upper floors on all sides. Grigory's light swung around, and thin shadows followed it. I shoved the door closed, then barred it closed. Grabbing a wooden chair I braced it against the door. Grigory looked at me blankly.

"Why'd you do that?" he asked.

I straightened up. "In case we have any pursuers."

His eyes showed his nervousness. "You think there'll be others? You should have told me if you were being followed!" he whispered angrily. He looked at me like he wanted to hit me, but was too afraid of how I might return it to him. It just cemented my judgment that the coward couldn't be Aurelius.

Grigory looked around, a little scared. "Maybe I shouldn't be here, maybe I should-" I cut him off when I grabbed him roughly by the front of his shirt and pulled him close. He gasped. The sudden movement shifted the holster under my left arm a little bit, but I had secured it well. It wouldn't move again.

"I'm not being followed," I said, unwilling to let him run away, "it's just a damn precaution. Now get it together and show me the files I've paid you for."

Grigory nodded weakly. "A-alright."

I let go of him. "Now where are we looking?" I said.

He swallowed hard, then pointed his light to the staircase to my left, illuminating a green door. "Up there, then down the hall, then up to the top floor."

We went up the stairs, the metal shivering with our steps, and went through the door. We had entered the archive proper. Down the wide hallway, ancient metal filing cabinets stood vigilant over their contents – necessary statistics such as how many shoes an average Soviet citizen in 1987 bought.

Further on, we found the staircase leading up. Grigory lead the way, his flashlight producing shifting and changing shadows. I tried not to focus on them, their shapes reminded me of monsters. Grigory had to stop and take a few breaths before he reached the top. At the top floor we came to the same kind of hallway as below, but Grigory opened another door, leading deeper into the building.

I was surrounded by metal. Metal stacks filled with boxes, folders, and binders to the point of overflowing were laid out on a floor of metal grating. For a few seconds I stared down between my feet, unable to tear my eyes away from the yawning shadows underneath me. I had to shake my head to catch my focus again.

"Be careful," Grigory said, "the catwalks line the walls, but you can fall to the ground floor from the middle."

I grunted in response, and followed him around the outside of the room, which I guessed to be about the size of a basketball court. Our steps rattled with us. We were almost opposite of the door we had entered in when Grigory turned and checked the filing numbers on one of the shelves. He mumbled gently to himself, went down two more, and swung his light around. "Aha!" he said, "here we are."

I looked over his shoulder. Two shelves, covered in material. "Well," Grigory said, "here it is, Viktor." He started to turn away. "I'll be on my way-"

I clamped my hand on his shoulder. "Get me a chair and a desk," I said. Grigory's shoulders slumped, and he trudged off to do what I told him to, grumbling. I finally pull out my own light from my pocket, fumbling with the extra batteries around it, and turn it on. It sunk in that I was going to have a long night.

I took the latest box I could find – 1998. When Grigory came back with a small table, I put it down and started sifting. Grigory stood there for a little bit. "What do you want me to do now?" he asked.

"Stand watch," I said. He looked confused. "The windows in that hallway," I said, pointing towards where we had come from, "keep an eye on the road." He started walking away. "And turn your light off while you're there, got it?" I finished.

Shaking my head I went back to the material. I heard Grigory open and close the door on the other side of the room. I pulled out the last message in the file, from September of 1996. It was short, and consisted mostly of a few pictures of a middle-aged man, code-named 'LEON', going into a hotel with a woman half his age. I tried to ignore how familiar the scene looked to me. But this was irrelevant. I didn't much care for the general moral indiscretions of Gehirn's members, unless they lead to something else.

Appended to the photos was a small paper, dated from October of that year: _'__Due to the recent budget cuts, we must reduce our actions in non-critical areas somewhat. General Samsonovich recommends the discontinuing of the Gehirn project – personnel are to be either deactivated or transferred to other assignments, and movable resources are to be diverted to the Caucasus. In my honest opinion, I think we're well rid of this sink.'  
><em>_- Lt. Col. Fedor Aleksandrov_

Budget concerns. I could relate. But "non-critical areas"? I flipped through a few of the files from '98, and I found a few technical schematics. One in particular caught my eye – a kind of cylindrical tube which, according to the attached note, was a prototype for a kind of escape pod. Another note attached behind that explained that the schematic was worthless, as the Russians didn't have the kind of industry for advanced parts the machine required. I wondered how many man-hours, how much sweat and effort and pain had been wasted to obtain that, only to have it be declared useless by the office bureaucrat?

I lit up one of the cigarettes I had bought in town, and almost gagged at the smoke, which burned the inside of my mouth and nose. But I kept smoking and lighting more of them.

I spent an hour going through everything from 1998. I mechanically pulled out the rosary, and dumbly, uselessly, fingered each bead as I read. Various code-names and agents came and went, but nothing that I needed. I stared at an inch-thick binder of written correspondence, and snorted as I thought '_Tolle, __lege, __tolle, __lege._" I opened it about two-thirds of the way through, and read with growing amazement.

_To: __Lt.__ Col. __Fedor __Aleksandrov  
>Date:<em>_ 98/05/11  
>Subject: <em>_LEON's __comments_

_In the absence of further orders, I have maintained surveillance on subject LEON. LEON has continued planning UN expedition – I am unsure if LEON plans on leaving GEHIRN for this project, or if it is a way for him to make use of his time. LEON has informed the upper staff that sub-director Ayanami will be brought in from Kyoto in approx. 1 month, and will be the ex tempore Director while LEON is gone from September on.  
>In private, LEON shows great excitement for this project, declaring openly that "maybe the scrolls are right after all." I believe this is a reference to the item(s) LEON has mentioned several times before, the "Dead Sea Scrolls." As of this date, I still have no specific information on them – only that the inspector Valiere provides LEON with information concerning them in the utmost secrecy.<br>I conjecture that they are most related to the society 'SEELE', who seem to have a disproportionate influence on the leadership of GEHIRN, and, as I have mentioned previously, is presumably the body which inspector Valiere represents. I will continue, if no countermanding orders are given, to seek what I can on 'SEELE', and determine if they are connected to Western intelligence agencies, as my few observations seem to suggest._

_Finally, I must make known my greatest displeasure at the silence I have received from your end. Unless I have an objective I cannot effectively carry out any intelligence-gathering. I hope the budget wrangling is dealt with quickly and with as little pain as possible._

_SOKOLOV_

"Yes, yes, yes!" I began shouting, and my voice echoed. A goddamn jackpot. I could guess whom 'LEON' was – Director Fichte. But the identity of the mole was more slippery. Even from the mid-1970's, Gehirn had a high number of Russian scientists and technicians, mostly emigre stock, but after the collapse of the USSR they had taken in many leading Soviet lights as well. I frantically searched to see if there was some kind of index, some way to tell who's material was where, but there was nothing. I had to go through the hard way and try to find everything I could by 'Sokolov.'

I started flinging away anything irrelevant – memos, photographs – and the sound of paper rustling on paper surrounded me. After an almost frantic search I found another one from him.

[i]_To:__ Lt.__ Col. __Fedor__ Aleksandrov  
>Date:<em>_ 98/01/03  
>Subject:<em>_ Inspector__ Valiere_

_As I mentioned in my last missive, I expected the inspector to arrive within two weeks, and I was correct. While performing my duties in GEHIRN over the New Year (for which I was commended by LEON), Valiere arrived near the end of the usual work day. As I was performing tests on the capacity of lab rats to actualize AT-fields (that is, the capacity of our machinery to __**detect**__ such AT-fields, as we know they exist), I had much time on my hands to wander the halls. It is part of my character here that I should wander these metal and concrete corridors, hearing much that others think I do no understand. So it was that I came across Valiere and LEON speaking to each other in a mostly-unused conference room. Valiere mentioned that one 'SEELE-11' had confirmed the extra budget needed to extend the Antarctic geological survey into the next southern summer. I will now transcribe the next few lines for your evaluation and signification._

_LEON: Hah! Where'd the King get the money from, is what I wonder. (silence). Jesus, that was easy. Usually we have to wrangle with the committee for months. And it's a hell of a lot more than we asked for last time.  
><em>_Valiere: 01 is **most** interested in what your people found there.  
><em>_LEON: Hell, I don't know anyone who knows what we found who isn't. Katsuragi is jumping up and down for a chance to get down there and start digging.  
><em>_Valiere (laughs): That sounds like him. Ikari is excited to see what comes up as well.  
><em>_LEON: Him or her?  
><em>_Valiere: Him, but I'm sure she's keeping her ear close to her daddy as well.  
><em>_LEON: Well, they should be. (silence). Jesus, what if it is one of the moons?  
><em>_Valiere: Well, that's what you're going to find out, no?  
>LEON: That's not... But what if it is? Then...<br>__Valiere: There's the second.  
><em>_LEON: How would we find the damn thing?  
><em>_Valiere: I suppose that's your job. You found this one, didn't you?  
><em>_LEON: Sure, but we have a cover for this search. And I'm still not sure how much I like relying on scraps of text to try and find a 15-kilometer asteroid.  
><em>_Valiere: Why's that?  
><em>_LEON: Well, I guess I'm afraid that if it ever got out, I'd look like a damn fool.  
><em>_Valiere: I think once you find both, no one will care how you did it in the first place.  
><em>_LEON: (silence). Yes, you're right. No one really cares how things happen, as long as they get done, don't they? (silence). Let's go check on Dr. Destrudo; see how the rats are doing?_

_With that, I hastily returned to my lab, and entertained the pair for a short while. I reiterated to LEON my preference for a test subject with a rational soul, but he rebuffed me, but without harshness. He understands the difficulties we go through here, but we must abide by the laws of the German Bundesrepublik._

_I end this message with a plea for greater direction from Control. I imagine that the inspector is a front for another organization, but I am only one man, and cannot see everything. Please advise me on where I should continue, sirs._

_SOKOLOV_

Moons? The Hell? I was so confused at that I almost forgot that this was it – this was the link between Gehirn and Seele that I had been looking for, and I could infer several things about it: One, Seele held the purse strings (or at least the majority of it), and Fichte did not have the highest opinion of 11; two, Katsuhito Ikari was most likely a member, but I couldn't decide if he was 01 or 11, though Valiere's use of "as well" seemed to suggest he was another member entirely; and finally, whatever the "Dead Sea Scrolls" were, they were damn important to them. I wondered if the 'moons' were some kind of codeword, but Fichte's comment seemed to belie that – they were asteroids? But why would Gehirn spend untold amounts of secret funds to find asteroids? What was in them? And more importantly, why didn't they want anyone else to know they were found?

I checked my watch – almost half past 1 in the morning. I ran my hand through my hair. I had expected a long night, but I still disliked having to go through it. I was going through the files from 1997 when Grigory came back. He was rushed, and out of breath.

"There's someone coming," he panted.

"Jesus," I said as I got up, "what'd you see?"

He put a hand up for a moment. "I saw... a big van. It stopped right outside the front door and a couple of folks got out. I... I think someone may have seen me in the window." I got a better look at his face, flushed, not only from the exertion of running here, but I could smell the bad vodka on his breath.

"Damn it, Grigory!" I said as he cringed. I looked over the shelves – so much material, and I had only scratched the surface. My mind desperately turned between what to do, my body paralyzed. Should I try to take anything? I scooped up the two memos from Sokolov I had read and stuffed them into my journal. I was just about to turn off the flashlight when I heard one of the doors on the ground floor of the room slam open. I turned to my left and looked over the railing, and saw two suited men with high-powered lights. They saw my light, and turned their beams up to my catwalk. I pulled Grigory back from the edge and tried to hide a little. The Makarov felt even heavier in its holster.

"Mr. Tallmann!" I heard called out. The voice was British, and he was speaking in English. But what worried me most was the address – _he __knew __my __name_.

"Mr. Tallmann, we're here from an old friend. We're here to help," he shouted up to me.

"What's he saying?" Grigory asked. I ignored him.

I started palming the pistol. Was it David? But he wouldn't send a goddamn goon squad to pick me up, would he? I looked around, and the different beams of light speared through the darkness of the room in the most beautiful manner.

I unlatched the Makarov. "What are you doing?" Grigory asked, a little terrified.

I took two deep breaths, trying to calm my shaking body.

I ran to the edge of the catwalk.

And I started shooting.


	10. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 - Raskolnik**  
><em>"This world of dew <em>  
><em>is a world of dew <em>  
><em>and yet, and yet!"<em>  
>- Kobayashi Issa<p>

1972. I'm sitting at a very fancy dinner table, watching the powerful and wealthy of Tokyo, both Japanese and international of origin, dance, eat, and be merry. The huge ballroom is suffused with lights, glinting off of crystal chandeliers, diamond earrings, and pearl necklaces. The d cor is a beautiful aping of Victorian and Edwardian styles, with a thin veneer of traditional Japanese trappings over it all.

I'm here ostensibly as a minor worker from the American Embassy, meant to make a nice impression on the business leaders that the United States is still firm in its support for Japanese industry, that we aren't going to forget about them for South Korea. Honestly, I'm here to keep an eye on Kaji and David, and also to have a nice date with Yomiko.

We've seen each other several times over the past year since we met, and each time I'm struck with her. But our relationship is quite amorphous, and I'm not sure what to make of it. I'm afraid of going too far, though. I like spending time with her, and the way she laughs makes my heart shiver, but she's never volunteered more than a few times of physical contact a few dances, a night with my arm around her shoulder and I realize now that something has to change.

Two tables from me a fat Frenchman is discussing the war in Vietnam with two other tuxedo'd men. No no, he says, I spent some time in Indochina, you know, and they have no respect for their own lives. He pauses and wipes his oily mustache with a napkin. Really, the Americans have no idea why they're there anymore. I mean, it's not like leaving cost us any political capital. I'm keeping something of an eye on him, but he's dreadfully boring.

I look to my right, at the dance-floor, behind which a string quintet are busy playing a Mozart waltz. In the shifting groups of men & women I can make out David dancing with Yomiko. He's maybe a head taller than her, but he knows how to waltz well, and leads her with a sure hand. They're talking, I can see that, but I wonder about what.

I'm broken out of my thoughts by a tap on the shoulder. I turn, and it's Kaji, disguised as a waiter. His nose is still a little crooked from the vicious punch he had taken to it only a few days ago. But he had made out better than me in that fight; I got careless and someone on the ground sliced my ankle with a broken beer glass. I'm still hobbling a little bit. But I made that guy pay for it - I'm pretty sure he'll never hold anything with that hand anymore.

"Sir," he says before I can say anything, "do you care for a drink?" He offers me a platter. I take a tall glass of champagne. Takahiro gives me a little wink as he offers the rest to the others at my table. The Frenchman continues droning on.

I flag Kaji down before he can disappear in the milieu. "Do you have any of those little hors d'oeuvre with the fish eggs I saw around the table with all the Brits?" I ask, trying to describe the food with my hands as well. Both Takahiro and David think a member of either the French or American embassies is a mole, and is acting through a Japanese handler. The man had almost gotten David's cover blown 6 months earlier, and he's eager to remove that threat. We have three targets, and I drew the short stick for this fat bastard.

So here I am, among people far more accustomed to wealth and prestige than I am, trying to look natural and not as out of place as I feel.

"You mean the crackers with caviar?" Kaji asks, his expression a little confused.

I snap my fingers. "That's it! Can you get me some?" I ask with a wide smile. I'm enjoying being able to order him around.

He smiles bitterly back at me, and walks off. Soon after that the waltz ends, and David & Yomiko come to the table. He bows to her and kisses her hand as I stand up. I feel a short surge of annoyance at David. I've never done that with Yomiko. "Thank you for the enchanting dance, madame," David says. Yomiko blushes and thanks him.

David shakes my hand and leans in close to my ear. "You get her for the rest of the evening, but keep an eye on Mr. Mustache there, I think he might bolt in the next hour or two." He smiles as he pulls back.

"Forgive me my friends, but I must play the baron's son tonight. Hopefully we can meet up tomorrow for brunch?" David says.

I look over at Yomiko, who nods. "I think we can make that," I reply.

"Wonderful! Have a great evening," he says, and then he's off.

I look at Yomiko, wearing a fine blue dress that looks like it's out my mother's few mementos of my grandparents. Her hair is loosely tied, and a few meticulously stray hairs frame her face to her shoulders. But I find myself drawn to her eyes again, pale brown in color, and I can't pull myself from them.

I realize that I haven't said anything for a few seconds, and I've been standing there like an idiot. I stammer quickly, "Ah, would you like a seat?" Yomiko laughs as I pull out a chair for her to take.

"So, Charles," she says, "thank you for inviting me to this." She looks around the room a little. "It's like nothing I've ever been a part of before."

"Ah, you're welcome," I reply. "So, uh, how have you been?" When I say it, I feel like an idiot. I should have said something better than that.

But Yomiko doesn't seem to think that, and she slips her hand into mine. It's smooth and relaxed to the touch, and I can't decide what to do with it. "I've been well. The single secretary's life isn't the most exciting thing in the world, though. I get off work, go home and help my mother, and then read."

"Recommend anything?" I ask. The band's started playing a lively piece, some Central European folk tune transcribed.

"Well, there was _Meijin_," she says, "but hey!" Yomiko points a finger at me. "You read _Chinmoku_, didn't you?"

A heavy laugh from the table with the Frenchman. "I, uh... no. Not yet. Sorry," I say.

Yomiko wags her finger at me. "You really ought to. My father didn't like it when he read it, he said it was a slander on our ancestor's padres." I see Yomiko's train of thought shift in her face. "You know, you should come back to Nagasaki soon. My father did like you when you introduced yourself, you know. He thought you were very polite." She punctuates her remark with a squeeze of my hand. I take that as my cue to hold hers tighter.

I'm surprised, and show it in my face. "Hey!" Yomiko responds, "it's true! He even likes you more than he does Kaji. Although," she pauses, "I suppose that's not too hard to do. Kaji really likes to see him sputter."

I laugh. "That sounds like what he'd do."

"Hey," she says, and starts looking around the room, "I could have sworn I saw 'Hiro running around here once or twice. Is he here?"

I rub the back of my neck. Both Kaji and I agreed that Yomiko should not know what our actual duties are. It would put her in too much danger. "I'm pretty sure he's in town, but all I know about what we're doing is meeting up with him tomorrow."

She makes a sound in her vocal chords. "Hrm, alright. Maybe it was just someone who looked similar."

We make some more small talk, about how I'm keeping myself occupied up in Hokkaido (busily), if I'd gotten Johnny Cash's last album (it arrived in the mail a few weeks before), and what I thought of the upcoming election (good Christ I have no idea), until the song comes to an end.

"Have you danced yet?" Yomiko asks.

I try to think of a way to dance and keep an eye on the Frenchman, but I decide to play it safe. "Ah, no, but-" I stop my excuse. Yomiko's looking at me with a look on her face, a slightly upturned lip, that says '_don't talk, just do_.' I take a few seconds to come to a decision.

"Would you care to dance, Miss Otomo?" I ask. She nods, and we leave the table. We take a position near the center of the mass of dancers, and I try to recall any of the classic dances. Thankfully, the musicians strike up another waltz, and I ease into the beat. My ankle protests, but I ignore it.

We're both quiet for a little bit, but I can tell Yomiko is a little jumpy about something. She looks me straight in the eye.

"Charles," Yomiko says quietly, "you don't mind my sending all those letters to you all the time, do you?" She looks nervous.

"Of course not, Yomiko," I say without hesitation, "they're, really they're one of the things that keep me going." I see her visibly relax – we're back at an easy equilibrium – but I can't stop there. I have to say it, I have to tell her what she means to me, because I can't go on not knowing what we're in. "Yomiko, I," I continue, "you're a really important part of my life, and I want you to know that. And I just hope I make you happy as well."

When I realize what I said I blush, and she's blushing in response, and for some reason after I say it it just clicks into place in my mind. That one step, that was all I needed. I hold on to her a little tighter, and she does the same. We dance in silence, but it's an easy silence, one you don't feel the need to end with useless words.

When the dance is over, I look back to the table. The Frenchman is still there, still oblivious to the fact that David has found where he's staying that night, to the fact that by the next morning, the only sound he'd ever make from his throat is a pained wheeze.

But neither do I, because I now realize that I love Yomiko Otomo, and that she loves me. I take her out of the hall onto a veranda, and Tokyo lays stretched out below us. The lights on the ground merge with the stars, all I can do is take her in my arms and kiss her under a blue moon.

* * *

><p><em>June 30, 2000<br>T-minus 75 days_

In the split second I had before I pulled the trigger, I aimed for the lights the men had. Two shots clapped out, and one of the beams disappeared. That's when the clusterfuck began.

I whipped around and saw Grigory with a look of horror on his face. I grabbed him by his lapel with my free hand and pulled him with me away from the files. I started running away from the side of the room the men had come in. The first return shots began ringing around us, pinging and ricocheting off the metal.

Cater-corner to my pursuers, I burst open one of the ubiquitous metal doors, a bullet flying past my head. I dragged Grigory into the hall and shut the door, hearing a few more shots smash into the other side.

The hallway was lined with dark offices, the features inside their glass windows unseen by me as I fled past them. Coming to a t-intersection, I chose to go away from the road I came in on, and turned right. I still had my hand on Grigory, but he found some wellspring of strength and wrenched my hand off himself.

"Why?" he screamed, his voice rebounding down the dim ways. "Why did you do that?" he asked, terror in his voice, but also anger, anger at being made an accomplice, at being put in the line of fire.

I looked at his face, and realized he must have thought I was insane to just start shooting at them. But how could I explain to him everything? Kaji's murder, my own brush with death, the perennial feeling of being hunted like a rat? How I realized that those men must be from Seele, and that they know I'm after them? Or even further, why I was there in the first place?

I resisted the urge to deck Grigory. I couldn't let him be captured by these men – I had no idea how much he knew, or how quickly he might break under interrogation.

"They'll want us both dead, now come on!" I said to him, to just shut him up and get him moving. He looked at me with hatred, and my pistol with fear, but I shoved him in front of me and started running again.

One of the cabinets must have been left further away from the wall, as I saw Grigory turn his head and run into something. He yelped and dropped, clutching his face. I cursed and grabbed the back of his collar, intending to pull him up. But I saw the hallway around us illuminated from where we had come from.

I threw myself against the wall, trying to get some cover behind a cabinet, as I heard the gunshots coming down. Grigory screamed and crawled to the other side of the hallway. He put his hands over his head and folded into himself on the floor. I was fine with that, as long as it kept him from getting shot.

A bullet sparked off the corner of my cover, and I fire my pistol over the top of it down the hall. One shot, and I realized that the light was still shining. I figured the idiots must have just left it on the floor pointing at me. After two more shots from the pursuers, I chanced my head out and confirmed my suspicion. The hand-light had been left in the middle of the hallway.

I waited a few more seconds, then spun away from the cabinet and took a shot. The light shattered, and the hallway was plunged back into darkness. I heard the two men swear as they began firing blindly at me.

I ducked against the wall near Grigory, and pulled him to his feet. He was shaking. "Listen, goddamn you," I hissed at him, as he cringed when a bullet struck the wall over my head, "I need you alive, and that means you need to run." I heard the men start to come toward us, so I fired two shots down. Apparently one of them struck home, as I heard a body hit the floor heavily as a voice cursed in pain, severe but not mortal.

"Jesus fuck!" I heard the other man yell, "we're in the hall past the main archive room!"

Shit, I had forgotten that there had to be more than these two. I fired another shot down the hall, shove Grigory in front of me and begin sprinting. Bullets flew past us, but more and more inaccurately as we gained distance, and we were unharmed. Eventually the shooting stops. We came to another bulky door, and I pushed Grigory through, making him trip over the threshold and fall to the ground, before I stepped through and closed it.

My mind was racing, faster and clearer than it ever had before. So when every light suddenly sprang on, blinding me with a harsh yellow glow, I knew I had a problem.

* * *

><p>1973. Good God, I'm getting married. I'm standing near the sanctuary of Ōura Church, with Yomiko to my right. The priest, a tall and sharp-faced Kyushu native, as well as a distant friend of Yomiko's cousins, has just given a homily on Matthew, specifically 5:37. He walks up to me and Yomiko, and although he looks serious, I can tell he's happy to be doing this.<p>

"_Carolus,_" he begins, "_vis accípere Yomiko, hic praesentem in tuam legítimam uxorem iuxta ritum sanctae matris Ecclesiae?_" I can feel the audience behind me. Yomiko's extended clan is here, and my parents flew out from New York. When I saw my father at the airport I couldn't help but notice how ancient he looked – far older than I remembered him being.

"_Volo,_" I respond. I do. Ever since that night last year, Yomiko and I have talked, _really_ talked, about what we mean to do. I had dawdled about proposing, until I half-remembered a phrase from a book I had read when younger – you never know what a woman is like until you marry her.

The priest turns to Yomiko. "_Yomiko,_" he says before pausing for a moment, "_vis accípere Carolum, hic praesentem in tuum legítimum maritum iuxta ritum sanctae matris Ecclesiae?_"

I half turn my head so I can look at her, and Christ she's beautiful. I feel like I could contemplate her eyes for a lifetime, and yet never exhaust them.

I asked her after I came back from Hong Kong. I told her that I didn't know if the US government would want me to stay in Japan forever, but that I always wanted to be with her.

"_Volo,_" she says.

The priest joins our right hands, and looks to me. "Repeat after me: I, Charles Tallmann, take you, Yomiko Otomo, for my lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

I can feel Yomiko's excitement in her hand, and I feel giddy as I start speaking. "I, Charles Tallmann, take you, Yomiko Otomo, for my lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

I wish Kaji were here to see this, to see his best friend and his oldest friend getting married. But I know what he's doing is important. And I remember what he told me – to protect Yomiko from as much danger as I can. I swore to him that night I would do everything in my power to do so.

The priest bends towards Yomiko. "Now you. I, Yomiko Otomo, take you, Charles Tallmann, for my lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

Yomiko tries to keep a straight face, but I can see that she wants to start beaming. "I, Yomiko Otomo, take you, Charles Tallmann, for my lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

The Father raises his hands over us and crosses us. "_Ego coniungo vos in matrimonium: In nomine Patris et Fílii, et Spíritus Sancti._"

We're married. And I can see in Yomiko's face she's as happy about it as I am. I don't know what the future might bring, but if I'm with Yomiko, I think I can live with it.

"Amen."

* * *

><p><em>June 30, 2000<br>T-minus 75 days_

I rubbed my eyes roughly to try and get some sight back. I blinked rapidly, and saw Grigory crawling on his hands and knees. I hated him at that moment. Sure, he was still in shock at realizing we were in a running gunfight, but in a sense so was I, and at least I was doing something about it other than moan and whimper.

I grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. I got a good look at his face – red eyes, tears staining his cheeks, a quivering lip. I thought it pathetic. No wonder GRU dropped him when they got a chance.

I glanced down both sides of the hall we were in. More offices with glass windows. And for the first time I really smelled the air, the dry and decaying smell of yellowed paper mixed with the wisping propellant from my pistol.

"How do we get out," I said to Grigory. My voice sounded strange to my ears, like I was hearing it from a recording.

He stammered. "I-I'm not sure. I-I-I think if we go there," he pointed over my shoulder, "we might find a fire escape."

"Better hope we do," I replied.

Pushing him in front of me, I jogged the way Grigory had pointed, keeping an eye over my shoulder. When I saw the door we had just come through open, I fired once to keep the bastard's head down. The shot made a panging sound, and at the same moment two more men appeared at the far end of the hall. They saw me and Grigory and immediately brought up their own guns and began firing.

"Shit!" I cried as I felt a bullet graze my left calf. I fired twice more, forcing the two new pursuers to drop to their knees and hide behind the half-columns on the walls. I kicked open one of the office doors and threw Grigory in before diving in myself.

We fell to the floor and I put my back to the wall underneath the large window. I took a look at my leg, and winced at the sight. The inside of my pant leg was soaking with blood from the calf down. I tested my leg a little, and I could move it around. I supposed that it must look worse than it actually was.

Grigory was panting heavily, and sweat ran down his face in wide streams. All the running had taken a harsh toll on him, but what else was there to do? What else could we do but try and get out of this building alive?

I took a look through the open door and saw one of the men, suited with a dark tie, being careless running down the hall. I took aim through the door for his legs and squeezed the trigger, and was rewarded with him falling on his face about 60 feet away. His companions forced me to fall back inside with a hail of fire.

I released the magazine from the grip, and saw it was empty. I tossed it away, hearing it clatter on the ground as I pulled out the spare I had. I slammed it into the pistol and heard it clatch shut.

I checked back on the hallway, and only saw the one man from before on the ground, groaning and clutching at his knees, his hands shiny and red with his own blood. Taking advantage of the momentary respite, I pulled Grigory with me as I dashed out of the office, and zig-zagged down the hall from cover to cover. I got a few dozen feet, but was anxious at the lack of response from the men behind me.

About 30 feet away was our target, an opening that looked more at home in a battleship than an office building, leading to an area filled with more metal stacks and cabinets. The hanging sodium lamps were only a little above the stacks.

I was about to run when a syncopated burst of bullets dissuaded me. "Jesus!" I yelled as I fell back. I peeked around the column, and saw the two men, now past their wounded comrade. "Damnit damnit damnit," I whispered.

I got off two shots, but the return fire was too close for comfort. I smashed the glass on the door I was next to and let myself and Grigory in. I could hear the sound of feet tapping down the hall, but then it went silent. For almost half a minute nothing happened. I blind-fired one shot and waited.

I heard a curious rolling noise. I looked out, and my heart stopped.

In the middle of the hall, about 10 feet away, lay a primed grenade.

* * *

><p>It's late in 1979. I'm staring at John Silvestre, "special liaison" to the American embassy in Paris, here in Asahikawa to see me. He's standing in front of my desk, and has just given me a special message from Langley.<p>

I can't say I know him too well. We were in the same introductory class into the CIA back in 1967, but he was immediately assigned to Western Europe when I left for Japan. He has a soft face, but his smile is arrogant and off-putting.

"You're shitting me," I tell him after I read the three-page message. He shakes his head, mouth in a thin line.

"'Fraid not, Chuck," he says, "up-high folks think you have what it takes to bring this guy down."

It's a little after noon, and Silvestre has come to see me in my office near downtown Asahikawa. It's where I work, as far as everyone knows, as a technical adviser to Japanese firms, filling them in on the latest industrial developments from the States. The office is nice, but not overbearing. A few old woodworking tools hang on the wall, and on my desk is a picture of me with my family from two years ago, along with a small wooden statue of Mary, Yomiko's suggestion.

I look back at the paper. Word of my part in the Orientalists' (as myself, David, and Takahiro are now being called) break up of the Maoist spy ring in Singapore had reached Langley, and someone damn important was impressed by it.

The message is an offer for me to move to Germany, assume a position in the embassy at Bonn, and begin counter-intelligence operations against a particularly skilled Russian, known only as Aurelius. They think I can smoke him out. I'm not so sure.

It's for that reason I find it difficult to say yes, even though I can tell the offer is more of a veiled order – it's couched in the language of polite imperatives with unsaid threats. I can tell that if I decline, things would get very unpleasant for me and my family.

"How long can I sit on this?" I ask. Silvestre adjusts his red tie and shrugs.

"I figure you've got some weeks to decide. But don't take too long or they might offer it to somebody else," he lies. But I don't care. My eyes glide over the text once more, but I'm not reading it.

"And really," Silvestre continues, "they're giving you a lot of lee-way on this. You wouldn't even answer through my office, just to Langley." He nods his head as if that were a deal-maker. "Pretty good gig if you ask me."

"I didn't," I reply, and I see Silvestre scowl out of the corner of my eye.

I unflip the pages and lay them face-down on my desk before looking at Silvestre. "Thanks for the message," I say, "Tell the folks back home I need some time to think about it." With that I pick up the first piece of paper to catch my eye and begin working on it, leaving Silvestre to realize he's been dismissed. He snorts loudly and leaves my office into the winter day. I hear him slam the front door, and I sigh. I probably shouldn't have antagonized him like that, but it's too late now.

I don't like the memo. I could try to explain that I can't take the position, that I've made a home for myself here in Hokkaido with Yomiko – we're well known at the only Roman church in 100 miles, Agnes is making a lot of friends her age, and Pieter was only born a few months ago – but I can imagine the blank response that would engender. Or worse, resign altogether, and forever live with a shadow hanging over me. I can't do that to Yomi and the kids.

I clench my fingers around the paper. They've got me by the balls here. I have to tell David and Kaji. It looks like the Orientalists are breaking up.

I spend the rest of the afternoon distracted, barely registering the activities around me. I just want to see my family.

I leave early, shocking my receptionist, and drive through the snowy streets to the far outskirts of town. My home is surrounded by great forests, colored variously with snow, bare tan bark, and the few evergreen trees. The house itself is a good size, but still cozy, and made of wooden logs. I see that the other car is in the driveway, meaning Yomiko's finished at the parish library.

My feet crunch the falling snow as I get out of my car and walk to the front door, and I make a note to shovel it in the morning. I open up the door. "I'm home!" I yell.

"Welcome back!" I hear Yomiko from farther inside, accompanied with some classical music. I kick off my shoes at the doorway as I hear feet pounding toward me on the hardwood floor. Agnes turns a corner and throws herself into my arms.

"Daddy!" she cries as I catch her and pick her up.

"Hey there, sweetie," I say, kissing her. I start walking toward the living room as she kisses my cheek. "How's my little girl doing? Was school good today?" Agnes nods and then squeals a bit when I pretend to throw her up into the air.

As I enter the living room, I see Yomiko on the couch, nursing Pieter and reciting a quiet Decade on her beads. The record player is playing some Chopin suite. Yomiko turns her head to me and smiles. She looks exhausted. I bend down and kiss her before letting Agnes down to run off somewhere.

I sit down next to Yomi. "You look tired, dear. You alright?" I ask.

She nods. "Just a long day. Father John has silly ideas as to what should be in our library."

"More theology?"

She sighs. "More _bad_ theology. And I keep trying to tell him that we're better off with classics, than with this stuff that tries too hard to be relevant."

"Kempis more than Küng?"

Yomi chuckles at that. "Exactly. Father Jerome got that. I kind of wish he was still here sometimes."

I put my arm around her shoulders. "Jerome was also one of the most boring speakers we've ever met. Are you [i]_sure[/i]_ you'd want him back?" I smile.

Smiling back at me, she leans over to kiss me on the lips, slow and tenderly. I feel fire run through my body, and we get into it, slowly falling together. I break the kiss, and am about to move to the nape of Yomiko's neck when we hear a giggle from behind me. We break off and I look around as Agnes disappears behind the door frame.

I clear my throat as Yomiko takes Pieter from her breast and pats him on the back. He's nearly asleep, and I take the moment to stroke his head. He's a quiet child, something both Yomiko and I are grateful for, after the terror that was Agnes at the same age.

The rest of the evening is uneventful, but my mind turns, trying to decide how to discuss the memo with Yomiko. I read Agnes a bedtime story, and after that went to mine and Yomiko's bedroom. As I get into bed, I admire Yomiko, now reading. She filled out once she became pregnant with Agnes, but that's only made her more beautiful to me.

I take a few minutes as I pretend to read my book. "Say Yomi," I start. She turns and looks at me.

"I got a job offer today..."

* * *

><p><em>June 30, 2000<br>T-minus 75 days_

Time slowed down as I dove back into the office, trying to cover my ears and the rest of my head. With a great boom the window shattered, spraying splinters of glass, wood, and concrete over myself & Grigory.

I blinked my eyes a few times to try and get the dust out of them. My ears rang, and shaking my head only made them hurt. My whole body was shaking, but I scrambled to my feet, feeling slivers of glass pierce my left palm as I pushed myself up from the ground.

I thrust my arm out the door and let loose with three more bullets, to tell the bastards I wasn't dead yet. I was rewarded with a sharp yelp and the sound of a gun clattering to the ground. I pulled my arm back in and leaned towards Grigory. His eyes were unfocused and he was mumbling something repeatedly.

"Grigory, Grigory," I said as I slapped his cheek a bit. "Wake up, damn you!" I hissed at him. I slapped him on the cheek, hard this time, and brought him to his feet. I saw him blink his eyes twice, as if he were just becoming aware of where he was. "We're getting out of here, damn it," I said, more to myself than him.

I waited for Grigory to realize where he was before I leaned towards the door again. Dust still swirled in the air in the hall, half-occluding everything in that part. I heard the sound of voices, close but not right next to us, maddened and arguing. I tried to suppress a violent cough, but could only try to muffle it into my shoulder. Underneath everything was the groaning of the man I had shot through the leg earlier.

Taking this as my moment, I flung Grigory around the corner and dashed out after him, rushing the 20 feet or so to the opening to the other archive. The sound of our feet alerted the men, though, and they began running and firing after us. We ran through the doorway and turned right. I stopped a few aisles in and grabbed a stack, and pushed it as hard as I could.

It tottered, until gravity took hold of it and pulled it over, clanging and crashing as it collided with the next stack, which hit the next, until I saw one of the men have to jump back from being flattened. The last stack lay diagonally across the doorway, and I heard the men curse. Loose papers floated through the stuffy air. As I ran down the hall I threw down some of the smaller cabinets across the aisle as well, as I could see the pursuers crawling underneath the stack.

We got a few more dozen feet as again more bullets flew past us, but they were more inaccurate than before. Grigory took a hard left into the last of the side aisles, and I followed him. He looked down through the window there, and I saw his shoulders slump. I pushed him aside and looked as well. No fire escape. I looked to the left and right, and there was no way down. A lone white car lay parked on the street.

"Shit," I let out. But then Grigory tapped my shoulder, and I turned around. He was pointing across the main aisle to the other side, where there was a thin spiral staircase going down beneath the floor.

"How far?" I asked quietly. The sound of a man stumbling over one of the cabinets came to my ears.

"I don't know, but it goes down," Grigory replied. I couldn't argue with that.

We dove across to the other side, and I felt another bullet slice through the back of my left shoulder. I grit my teeth and stumbled onto the stairs, even as Grigory was already running down them. I took a second and tightened my grip on the railing in pain, and followed after him.

We passed the 3rd and 2nd floors, but the stairs ended on the first floor. More stacks, similar to what we had just come from, surrounded us. I was panting heavily as I stepped off the last stair and saw Grigory at the window, looking again for a way out.

I was about to cross to his side when a burst of semi-automatic fire cut across the void, leaving pockmarks on the floor and the wall. Grigory jumped, and I tumbled back and fell on my ass, causing pain to shoot through my wounds. I grimaced at that.

Getting onto my feet, I leaned next to the aisle. Another burst, and I flinched away as a chip of concrete from the floor was ejected into my cheek.

I waited for the gunner to stop firing before I jumped across the aisle. The window was about my height, and a single pane of glass. Grigory flinched at the sound of another burst.

I blind-fired twice as I tried to figure out what to do. We were trapped in a dead end. Two men were about to come down the stairwell, and a third had us pinned with a much larger gun than I had.

"Oh God, oh Lord Jesus, oh God," I heard Grigory whisper.

I looked out the window again. Below us was the white car, parallel to the building, and an alleyway about 30 feet away from it on the other side of the road. I guessed the distances, and made a decision.

Pulling Grigory towards me, I looked him in the eyes. Behind me I heard a fast clinking sound on the staircase, small and metallic.

"Trust me," I said.

He didn't have a chance to respond before I threw him out of the window.

* * *

><p>It's the summer of 1981. I've just spent two days in a Swedish woman's apartment in Frankfurt. She thinks she's important to a Soviet spy ring. She isn't, but she's in one, and that makes her a lead for Aurelius. I hesitated before trying to seduce her, but none of my growing pool of agents had the necessary skills or background, technical and personal, to both get inside her home and to successfully bug it.<p>

It's the first time I've ever slept with someone other than Yomi. I feel sick at that thought.

But I'm cleaned up, and besides some rumpling in my shirt I can explain from having slept in it, no one should be able to tell what I was up to.

It's late, probably past midnight, and I'm driving back home from the embassy, where I checked to make sure the bugs are working. I find it strange how easy it had been to get into that woman's bed. Her name is... I can't seem to recall it. Her face was alright, a nose a little too upturned, and a voice that scratched my ears, but I have to get this information from her, and I couldn't see any other way to do it.

I suppose James Bond never has any trouble with the girls, but he never married, did he? He'd never found the woman that made his life worth living, and then betrayed her for England, had he? No, he had a never-ending stream of consequence-free relationships, that always ended with the movie.

Shit.

Goddamnit.

The world is completely silent as I pull into the driveway of my new home. It's larger than the one in Hokkaido we left, but it looks a little like it came out of an illustrated Brothers Grimm tale. I turn off the engine as I park and sit there for a few minutes, trying not to think of anything. I don't know how I can look Yomi in the eye, but I have to.

I get out, unlock the front door, and lock it again as quietly as I can. I can see Yomiko on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket and softly snoring. I first creep up the staircase and check the kids' rooms. Both are well asleep, and I kiss them both on the forehead. Pieter stirs a little, but he doesn't wake up.

I change into some pajamas in my bedroom, and go back downstairs. On the table in front of the couch is Yomiko's rosary, gleaming in the moonlight, and her alarm clock, slowly ticking the night away. I pick up the blanket near her legs, and position myself on the couch. She shifts at the movement, and I see her eyes flutter.

"Charles?" she whispers. I lean in and kiss her cheek.

"It's me, sweetie."

She sighs contentedly, and moves around so that she leans on my chest. I lightly stroke her back.

"You feel tense," she says. And I realize at that moment that I could tell her the truth. The whole truth. Everything. About the CIA, about moving to Bonn, about where I've been the past two days. And if she asked me what I've been up to, I honestly don't think I could lie to her. I'd tell her everything.

But I can't. I can't bring myself to do it.

I can't hurt her like that.

"Rough days, dear," I say, feeling hollow.

She kisses my chest. "I'm glad you're back."

I'm quiet for a few moments.

"Yomi," I begin, "you know I do everything for you and the kids, right?"

"Of course," she mumbles, "love you."

"I love you too."

She falls asleep long before I do.

* * *

><p><em>June 30, 2000<br>T-minus 75 days_

The window shattered as Grigory's back collided with it. At the same time a second grenade rolled off the staircase behind me. A split second after Grigory fell, I jumped out after him. As I fell I saw Grigory impact the top of the car, slamming into it with his back and denting the metal slightly.

It was a short drop to the car, but when my feet hit the front hood I cried out in pain and fell on my side onto the windshield, dropping my gun. At the same moment the grenade in the building exploded, sending more concrete dust, slivers of glass, and loose papers into the air. I heard more gunshots being fired inside the building. I guess they wanted to make sure we were dead.

My whole body shaking, I slid off the car and picked up my pistol where it had fallen. Grgory was moaning on his back, which encouraged me, as he was still alive. He looked like he had been cut by a few shards of glass, but beyond that he seemed fine. I pulled him off the hood and set him on his feet, and holding onto his arm, started running for the alleyway.

I heard more glass shatter as bullets impacted on the road around us. Grigory ran as fast as he could, but a few feet away from the alley he fell to the ground. I turned, aimed for shooter, silhouetted at the window, and squeezed off two shots in quick succession. I saw him drop his gun and clutch at his gut before he fell backwards into the building.

Shoving the gun back into the holster, I took Grigory with both hands and hauled him into the alley, dragging his feet as I went. He was limp. Once we were out of direct sight of the archive, I turned him over. His chest was covered in blood, pouring out from the gash across his neck.

"Oh Jesus," I said as I realized Grigory was going to die. He was going to die, and I had brought him here in the first place.

But he wasn't looking at me. Instead, Grigory's eyes were staring up, his gaze both intense and fragile, and his mouth repeated one bloody, silent word. I couldn't tell what it was though. Jesus? The name of that woman in the photo, whom he'd never see again now?

Or was it 'why'?

Why had I done this? Why had I gotten him killed? Was it worth it?

But I couldn't stay. The pursuers had to be coming after me even now, and I couldn't let it all end here. I couldn't let Seele win now. My blood pounding in my ears, I let go of Grigory, laying him on his back, got up, and started running.

My hands were wet with his blood, and my own was soaking my clothes. I must have left a trail of bloody footprints as I ran through those deserted streets, trying to find my car. I tried to remember where I had left it, but I felt turned around, my mind couldn't stay in one place. I jumped at every shadow, and I just knew my enemies were coming closer.

I couldn't tell how long it took, but eventually I found the car again. I threw myself into the driver's seat, turned on the engine and gunned it, sending the tires squealing until I shot forward. I quickly turned onto the main road through the whole complex, and made my way back to the gate. It was open as I approached, and as I passed through I could see the guard slumped over in his little cubicle, blood pooling on the floor.

I swore, and got out of there. My heart felt like it would burst, but I had gotten out. I had escaped, and Seele had failed in their attempt to murder me.

I wouldn't let them stop me now.

* * *

><p>1988. It's late Autumn.<p>

"That's not what I meant, and you know it!" I exclaim. I'm in my kitchen, standing with my back to the sink. Yomiko's in front of me, blocking my way out of the room.

"I wasn't the one who failed to show up, Charles!" she replies. We're having another argument. I can't even remember what set it off, but it's blowing up now. She was praying when it happened, and she's got her beads wrapped around her right hand.

"You're willfully misinterpreting what I said!" I say as I clench my fists.

"How is that? I trust you'll do what you say you will and you call that misinterpreting?"

I let out a sigh. "Look Yomi, I said I was sorry, ok? Isn't that enough for you?"

Yomiko's body shakes. "This isn't about _me_, Charles!"

I turn my back to her and slam my hands on the counter-top. "Then what _is_ it about, then!" I can sense Agnes and Pieter are nearby, listening to another one of their parents' arguments. They shouldn't be awake, but it wouldn't be the first time we kept them up with a fight.

Silence, a brooding, dark quiet. "Charles," Yomiko says after a time, her voice trembling, "are you having an affair?"

I've been dreading that question for years. For years I've been planning responses to it, trying to figure out ways to deflect the question, or turn it around, or do anything but actually admit to it. But now, when it comes down to it, I freeze. I don't know what to say.

"What do you mean," I say.

"You _know_ what I mean!" she nearly screams. "H-have... have you been sleeping with another woman?" She's on the edge of something, maybe she doesn't even know what she wants me to say.

And how do I tell her yes? That I have been sleeping with other women, that it's been going on for years? How do I tell her that, but that all those other women mean nothing to me? They were jobs to do, connections to make, networks to forge in my fight to protect her and the children? What words, what language can express that yes, I've been sleeping with other women, but I have only ever loved Yomiko? That I loved her since the moment I first saw her? That even now, I still only want her to be happy?

But the words don't come. I'm silent, my head bowed.

"Charles," she says before hesitating a second, "Charles, answer me."

I close my eyes, and my hands tighten on the counter.

"Charles, _please_, just tell me the truth." Yomi's crying now. God help me, I can't look her in the eye.

I hear her open up one of the kitchen cabinets. A second after a plate hits the floor and breaks apart. More silence. I can almost hear the insects outside the window.

Then a second plate fractures on the ground. Then a third.

Glass shatters, then china. Yomiko is breaking everything she can get her hands on behind me.

"_PLEASE, CHARLES_!" she screams. Her breath is ragged and panting.

I can't answer her. I hear her sob, and run towards the front door. I quickly turn and follow her. I see her at the door with the car keys.

"I have to go, I have to go," Yomiko says, before running out the door. I stand there, frozen in place, staring at the open door as I hear the engine start and the car pull out. She's gone.

But she's done this before. It's not the first time she's run off in tears, it's not the first time I've hurt her with my silence, it's not the first time I've killed a little bit more of my conscience. And in a few hours later she'll be back, sullen and depressed, but she'll still say she loves me and I'll repeat it back to her, even after all this.

Because even now I still do. I still look in her eyes in wonder that such a grace could exist here, and could love me, through the hurt I've done. And we'll apologize to the kids, and maybe, I say to myself, I'll tell her the truth, maybe I'll have found the right words then, and we can forgive.

I sit on the couch for the rest of the night, staring at nothing, and Yomiko doesn't come back.

It's early in the morning, around 4:30 AM when I get the call.

She was in a car accident. She got broadsided by a truck that ran a red light. She died almost instantaneously.

I try to process it, but I can't. The receiver falls from my numb fingers, and I can vaguely hear the official on the other end trying to see if I'm there.

Yomiko's dead.

No, she will never return now.

We will never reconcile.

And she will never forgive me.

I am damned.


	11. Interlude II

**Interlude II**

"As I say, there is no future for the world, or a future for Man:

_'There is nothing that the age does not crush._  
><em>Fate reaps everything.'<em>

"But it was my discovery of the Scrolls that set me on this path to Instrumentality, to this path to find a way out of our inevitable end. I have no truck with Providence as such, but that occasion, that purest of chances, made me who I am this day. It was that finding, and my realization of the importance of the Scrolls that led me to proclaim those great words:

'_I'll learn what holds the world together _  
><em>There at its inmost core:<em>  
><em>See the seeds of things, the power,<em>  
><em>And bargain in words no more.'<em>

"Yes, with the Scrolls I learned much that had been hidden from the eyes of Man for untold eons. And Instrumentality is the end result of my labors. For decades I have worked towards its end, I have persuaded, cajoled, intimidated, and fought until I am at last a hand's breadth away from attaining my end. Seele has played its part as an extension of my will, its infighting and politicking stopping even those who think themselves the masters of the world from realizing what will happen.

"Yes, yes, there are some who think they know, who think that they will rule the collective soul of Mankind as gods, benevolent or cruel as their various wills are, but they understand nothing. It is pitiful that those men, who cast themselves as Uebermenschen misdirecting the masses, never seem to think that I might do the same to them.

"Katsuhito thinks me a mere mystic, that my studies in the kabbalist tradition are nothing more than the inane and transitory pleasures of an old man, but he is a fool. He doesn't understand that Instrumentality is the only way for Man to reach his true end - godhood. Through Instrumentality, we shall attain the _Ein Sof_, and in an instant obliterate that infinite qualitative difference between the divine and Man!

"No, Ikari and his ilk think too small, too lowly to truly understand what will happen. They think in terms of material processes alone, trying to postpone that fate which all flesh is heir to. No, I go much further with Instrumentality.

"Man shall become God, and all will be right with the world.

'_Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,_  
><em>Or what's a heaven for?<em>'"


	12. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 – The Body / Approach**

_July 9, 2000  
>T-minus 67 days<em>

"_No!_"

I found myself awake, my thin sheets sticking to my sweating body. Breathless, I looked around the small room from my bed, trying to figure out what I had heard. I looked towards the window, covered by a blue curtain, and wondered if the voice had come from out there, or if it had been me. When nothing happened, I put my head in my hands and took a deep breath. I realized I still had the beads in my right hand, and when I unclenched it, I saw that deep divots had been impressed into my palm. A desk fan sent weak ripples through the thin linen around my legs and waist.

I was in Berlin, to make contact with Hermann Pauli again. I had escaped Perm, leaving Grigory's body for the wolves, but I knew there was something hidden inside Gehirn, something they would kill to hide. I had spent a few days recovering after the fight, sewing makeshift stitches onto my wounds. I had avoided the hospitals for fear of my hunters keeping an eye on them for me.

When I took the train back to Berlin from Moscow, I was struck by how familiar the Brandenburg countryside still was to me. Even without the Wall, without the Stasi and Volkspolizei, without the atmosphere of suffocating fear, I had to constantly stop myself from falling into my memories. They couldn't help anyone, least of all myself.

Sitting on the bed I coughed twice, and grimaced at the feeling in the back of my head, a low persistent rumble like static. Getting out of the bed and making my way to the bathroom, I splashed my face with somewhat cold water from the sink. I pulled on the metal chain hanging from the light, and let out a snort at the sight of myself. I looked bad. My cheeks were starting to sink in, my shoulder had an ugly red scar across it, and my entire body shook with the faintest of tremors every now and again. I had kept up shaving, but more out of a kind of ritualism than really caring for my appearance. But I was still holding on.

After I took a shower and left the bathroom, I checked the time – just after 7 in the morning. I turned on a small portable radio and dialed it to listen to the news as I stepped around take-out boxes and ashtrays on the floor. The news was fairly unremarkable, the only thing the station found important was to note that overnight there had been another spate of arson attacks, aimed at luxury cars. The commenters were unsure if they were politically motivated or not.

After getting dressed, I checked the wall safe again just to make sure what I needed was still there, then I looked through my various emails. Only two stood out – one from Agnes, and one anonymous. I checked Agnes' first:

_This is Agnes, in case you couldn't tell from the address. I know it's been a long time, Dad, but I just wanted to say hi and ask how you were. I'm just a little worried about you, because a few days ago three government guys came by my place to ask me where you were. I told them I thought you were down in D.C., when the one in front told me you had left for Japan in March, and you haven't given any contact to anyone since then. I called Pieter and he said that he'd been approached by several men as well in Frankfurt, asking the same questions about you. I think you can imagine how he responded to them._

_Dad, I know things have been rocky between us for the past few years, but please, please tell me what's going on. I'm really worried about you._

_Love,  
><em>_Agnes_

That worried me. Someone knew that it was specifically me out there, looking into Seele, and they knew where my family was. I sat there for a few minutes, trying not to think about Agnes or Pieter getting caught up in my little war. But eventually I checked the other message, from an anonymous address:

_Charles – stop this while you can. You can still walk away._

I deleted it after reading it twice. I couldn't run from this anymore. Not after Kaji's death, not after Grigory's. I had to see it to the end.

Closing the laptop, I picked up a small piece of white chalk, and left the cramped apartment I was in. The day was blistering, and under my clothes I already felt sweat begin to run down my back as I stepped onto the sidewalk.

Berlin felt so different from when I had last been there. Gone was the veil of fear, of invasion and war in the West, and of oppression and lack in the East. But what was there now? I looked up at the skyline, with its new towers meant to symbolize the new future of Germany. But what was it? What was this country, this continent aiming for?

I had those thoughts on my mind as I found myself a few hours later, having arrived near my target by subconscious autopilot. I was in a fine residential neighborhood, with expensive homes and new cars in the driveways. They were far different from the _Plattenbauten_ I used to see everywhere. I checked the streets, and found the intersection I wanted. The roads surrounding me were overshadowed by old trees, providing necessary shade. I checked to make sure I couldn't see any incoming cars, and approached the nearby mailbox. My previous marking was nowhere to be seen.

Taking the piece of chalk, I drew a large and noticeable X on one side of the box, replicating what I had done the day before, and then another X on a second side. I looked at one house in particular, a little larger and a little flashier than its neighbors. He would see the message, and this time there would be no mistaking in his mind what it was.

With my message made, I left the area, taking a different route than before.

As I left, my mind drifted back towards Perm, and I tried to get my jumbled thoughts in order. Whoever had sent the goon squad had known someone would be interested in the archives of the GRU that night, and had known that it would be me. But how? If it had been Grigory who tipped them off, why didn't they speak in a language he knew? More importantly than that, Grigory had been even more surprised than I had at the attack. I could only rule him out. But who did that leave?

They knew my name, and they knew I would be in Russia. I pondered the possibilities. Could it have been Silvestre? But then, he had never been well-placed in my circles, and I wasn't sure how he would have been able to follow me. David? I hadn't heard anything from him in a long while, and he knew enough about my operations to be very dangerous, but I was stuck on the lack of motive. How would he be connected to Seele?

But beyond that, I just couldn't see David being the one hunting me down. And I was left, again, with more questions than answers.

* * *

><p><em>July 10, 2000<br>T-minus 66 days_

Another hot day, but I had spent most of it sitting on a park bench, waiting. Around me moved a younger crowd, mostly smiling, but without much feeling in them. As I read several papers over the course of a few hours, I took in the place around me – dogs barking, people laughing, and cars honking in the distance.

Around 4 in the afternoon I heard what I wanted. A nearby public telephone began ringing. Leisurely folding up my paper I set it on the bench and sedately walked over to the phone before picking up the receiver. I didn't have a chance to say a word when I heard the voice on the other end.

"Who the _fuck_ are you and what the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?" he said. The man was barely keeping himself from screaming at me. On my end of the phone I smiled. He hadn't changed at all.

"Herr Hermann Pauli, it's been a while," I said, trying to sound more relaxed and confident than I actually felt. I was shooting in the dark with Pauli, but I had to try something to get further into Gehirn. But I couldn't let him know that.

The line was quiet for a moment. "V... Viktor? But ho-?"

"No need to worry about that now, Pauli. Meet me alone at Spandau Fortress. Tonight. 2 AM. Understand?" My left hand was shaking, and even balling it into a tight fist didn't stop it. If Pauli hung up, I was damn near out of luck, except for what I had in the safe. And I wanted to keep that hidden until I had to bring it up.

I could hear Pauli breathing, and the second before I was going to ask him again he spoke up. "Fine. 2 AM. I'll be near the main bridge." With that the line quickly cut out – he must have slammed his own down. I let out a breath, and lightly placed the phone back onto its post. I checked my watch, and decided I had some time to do a little more research. I wanted to know a little more about the younger Ikari.

* * *

><p><em>July 11, 2000<em>  
><em>T-minus 65 days<em>

I learned one big thing about Yui Ikari before my meeting with Pauli – she was brilliant. A genius, even. Obtaining a Bachelor's Degree in Chemical Biology in 1993, then moving on to a Master's and Doctorate in Metaphysical Biology at Kyoto University under Kozo Fuyutsuki. All before she was 22 years old. I had looked at the abstracts of some of her public work, and the terminology was utterly beyond me. But there she was, working at the Institute for Artificial Evolution in Kyoto at 23 years old, one of the leading lights of Metaphysical Biology. I could only imagine what she was like, especially with her father in Seele. 'Sokolov' had heard her mentioned in conjunction with her father, which suggested she was at least aware of his activities, even if she wasn't a part of the organization herself. But it still left a blank spot as to why she was interested, or what she was even doing. She was a consummate academic, what in God's name did she have to do with whatever cover-up was happening in Antarctica?

I thought long and hard about Fuyutsuki's appearance again. Surrounding him were either Gehirn members or Seele interests. He couldn't be ignorant of the affiliations of his colleagues, could he? At first glance he looked like a normal faculty member of the University's Advanced Institute, but I couldn't believe that. I knew that he had to have a place somewhere, even if it wasn't clear.

But what makes a conspiracy? It was clear to me by then that Seele, even without members everywhere, was perfectly situated to advance their agenda – in the sciences, in the halls of the United Nations, and in financial markets – whatever that agenda was. What was down there in Antarctica? What was down there that would draw together so many different types of people? What did they want out of it?

Now that the night was in its fullness, the air was somewhat refreshing as I arrived at the fortress. A few small herds of clouds passed across the waxing moon. A few breezes pushed the branches of the park's trees together. As I approached the moat around the old citadel, I checked my watch. I was a few minutes late, but that was fine. It would keep Pauli nervous.

Passing by the scattered fake gas lamps and the worn monuments to forgotten battles, I saw a male figure on the bridge in front of me. I put my hand to my chest, feeling the manila folder containing my only hope if Pauli got obstinate.

I stepped onto the bridge, about 30 feet across, and saw the other figure move to watch me. It was dark, but I could tell it was Pauli as I got closer. The close-shaven dirty blond hair, the scar he made on his cheek to look more intimidating, and wide, worried eyes. They darted left & right, he scratched the back of his left hand obsessively, and his breathing was uneven. I resisted the urge to swallow as I leaned against the railing opposite Pauli

"Hermann," I began, "long time no see." I fished a cigarette carton out of my pocket and lit one, closing the lighter with a clear metallic ping. I offered Pauli one, but he didn't acknowledge it.

"I thought you were dead," Pauli said. He had a high voice, higher than one would expect, but he did an alright job of keeping his tone level.

"Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated," I replied. Pauli snorted.

"I wish you had, you know," he said, before spitting over his shoulder into the moat. "After you disappeared behind the Wall I thought I was a dead man."

"You seem to be doing quite well for yourself in spite of your fears."

"Fuck you," he shot back. "Using me to turn to the Russians, fuck you. I bet seeing the Wall open was a shock to you, Viktor. Did you think the Ossis and Russkies would fawn over all your information? I bet that turned out _real_ well for you."

I stopped myself from shouting back at Pauli. If he wanted to think I had defected, I would let him, but it made getting his assistance even more difficult. He stared at me, angry and defiant. That was different from what I remembered of him, but if I had to I would beat him into submission. I was quiet as I tried to formulate my plan of attack. It made Pauli nervous.

"Say something, goddamn it," he said, his body jittery and tense. It almost made me smile that he was still so afraid of me. It made my life just that much easier.

And something clicked. It was all a front. The anger, the tension, it still came from one source – his fear of me. I could use that.

"You're going to help me," I said, "you're going to tell me everything you know about Gehirn, and you're going to get me inside of their laboratory."

Pauli gave a forced laugh. "Ok, now I know you're fucking crazy. Why the hell do you think I know anything about Gehirn, or why I would put my neck out for a traitor?"

I put an edge into my voice. "Because I know _you_, Hermann, and I know that the former lead operative in anti-industrial espionage in Berlin wouldn't let something so big sit in his own backyard without having some kind of an in on it."

Pauli had his hands balled tightly. "That's real deductive of you, but I'm still not going to help you."

"I think you will, after you see this," I said, pulling out the folder from my coat. I stretched it out to Pauli, who reached out tentatively before snatching it from me. He pulled open the top and pulled out the first photograph inside. He looked at it in the dim light for a few seconds.

This was it. The moment of truth. My breathing stopped, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, and my whole body felt tight like the string of a violin. It all came down to Pauli's reaction.

"W-what is this?" he said, fear creeping at the edge of his voice.

"It's a photograph, of you having a rendezvous with noted East German agent Klaus Tappen." Pauli looked straight in my eyes as I spoke. "No doubt you were discussing ways to undermine the security of the Federal Republic."

"This isn't real," he said quickly, "you're lying, these photos are fake, I didn't meet him!"

In my mind I breathed a sigh of relief. He was right, sadly enough. Not only was that photo faked, much of what was in that folder I had created back in 1988, when I wasn't sure I had enough to use to lean on Pauli. I hadn't needed it then, but finding the copies in one of my safes was a great boon.

"But that's not the only thing there, Pauli. In that folder is enough evidence to connect you to quite a few unsolved leaks." Pauli's face was drained of color, but I continued. "In fact, I think even an anonymous source giving information like this to the BND would be enough to have you find the inside of a prison cell, if you're lucky."

Pauli's eyes jumped from me to the contents of the folder – photos, transcripts of phone calls, financial transactions, some of it true, but most of it my own work. And as he quickly paged through what was in there, I could see the gears in his mind turning, trying to find a way out. But I knew Pauli. He had already made the decision to help me, he just needed my help to get there.

"This can't be real, it's all a lie. It has to be! I never met these people, I-I never made these deals," he looked up at me then, "no one will believe this, or believe you."

I let out an exaggerated sigh. "Pauli, how long have you been in this business? Since, what, '73?" I was walking on a tightrope, and I had to keep my role perfectly – as the same heartless bastard who had threatened Pauli into helping him 12 years ago. "I bet there are plenty of people who don't like you so much. And I can assure you that this would be a gold mine in anyone's hands. I'm not sure you want that."

"But... but if I prove it's wrong-"

"Then what!" I yelled back. "Your career - no, you - you'd be dead in the water after this got out. You think anyone would trust you? Would believe _you_? No, no no. Ohh, Pauli, your bosses, they'd throw you to the wolves if they felt it would protect them." I paused. "What's a better headline? 'DDR double agent arrested for crimes against the Republic' or 'Traitor to his country found dead mysteriously'? I feel like both have a certain flair to them that people long for nowadays."

"I have friends, you bastard," he replied quietly.

"Then you'll be left to rot in a worthless little cubicle for 20 years! And for the rest of your life there'll be the whispers behind you, just at the edge of your knowledge, and your _friends_ will abandon you!" I shot back. I hadn't intended to yell, but I couldn't stop myself. I took two deep breaths to regain myself.

"Pauli," I said, carefully controlling my voice, "it's easier to listen to me, and you know it."

He was staring at his feet, quiet. The silence stretched on long enough that I began to worry. He was going to call my bluff, and ruin everything. All my time and effort had been wasted, I knew it. I had led a man to his death and it would all be for nothing.

"Don't..." Pauli started as he looked up at me, my entire body frozen at his words, "don't you feel sorry for everything you've done to me?"

I took a second to think about that.

"No," I lied.

His shoulders slumped, and I knew I had won. I was getting inside Gehirn.

* * *

><p><em>July 24, 2000<br>T-minus 52 days_

When I had gone to Pauli, I had expected a certain level of support on his end, even after coercing him into it. Man-hours, materiel, sources, those had been my expectation. But where I had been expecting our relationship to be something akin to pulling teeth, I was left speechless at what Pauli had gotten for me – walking into Gehirn in less than a month, when I had expected it to take weeks upon weeks of preparation.

I was disguised as one Jacques Pelletier, meant to be a representative of Seele to the Director. Pauli didn't know exactly what these representatives did, but only that they changed often, and most times unannounced. I was to act as if my arrival was a surprise inspection. My hope was to use the secrecy that clouded over these organizations to my advantage – and who in their right mind, really, would be so stupid as to try and impersonate a member of a global conspiracy?

The labs were 2 hours south of Berlin, and had been built in those heady days just after reunification when anyone with cash could own a decent sized piece of the former DDR. In the backseat of the limousine Pauli had acquired for me I thought over my invented background once more. Pelletier was a native of Alsace, thus explaining his fluency in both French and German. A history in NATO led to him being recruited by Seele.

The car passed by small farms and copses of trees. I let out a sigh as I looked at them out the window. This was one of the riskiest stunts I'd ever pulled, but it had such a potential for getting a hold of classified information that I had to take the opportunity. But I was more than nervous. I wondered whether it was a trap or not, if Pauli had really become so compliant as to send me directly into the lion's den without making sure the lion knew I was coming.

As I approached the labs, the sky grew cloudy. Unusual for a late July day.

One could see the labs themselves from a far distance – a small town of vast white warehouses, glass administrative buildings, and Brutalist labs. The entire complex sprawled over an area above 4 square miles, and over two and a half thousand men and women labored inside of it. It was huge, the beating heart of Gehirn's international operations.

Huge parking lots dotted the perimeter of the complex, but my driver took us to the central building, a glass ziggurat. The paths between the various areas and buildings had only a few walkers on them, something that surprised me. I had expected to see more, but it was still early in the morning.

The limousine pulled up in front of the headquarters, and through the tinted window I could see several men and women gathered about 20 feet from me, near the main entrance – two large revolving glass doors. I took a deep breath to try and calm my pounding heart.

The chauffeur exited the driver's seat and walked around the back to open my door. I stepped out onto the concrete walkway and drew myself up. I was dressed in a smart black jacket and pants, in a style reminiscent of the old Nehru jackets of my youth. I had dyed my hair completely white, and then did what I could to accentuate the lines on my face. I looked somewhat different from usual, but only if an observer didn't look carefully.

One man called out when I stood up from the car. "_Ah, Inspecteur Pelletier!_" he said as he walked up to me. He stuck out his hand. "_C'est un plaisir,_" Director Ayanami said. His French was shaky, but I made a show of appreciating the effort.

"_Pour moi aussi, Directeur_," I said as I took his hand in mine and gave him a steady handshake. After that I bowed my head slightly to the brunette behind him, and acknowledging the rest of the party. "Thank you for the reception," I said, switching back to English, but keeping a slight French accent on my tongue.

"We are very happy to have you here," Ayanami responded, his English sounding almost as good as Kaji's once had. "I'd first like to introduce you to some of the department heads before we begin the tour." He pointed out the men & women in turn, but they were administrative – I didn't give them much thought. But the last one he introduced, a Naoko Akagi, was the head of the "Magi project." This was something new to me, and I filed the name in the back of my head as I was led into the building.

The central headquarters wasn't anything I hadn't seen before – polished stone floors, judicious use of burnished metal fixtures, and a sterile atmosphere. It could have been the lobby of Exxon, General Electric, Dow Chemicals, or a hundred other multinational organizations. As a group we made our way to the upper levels of the building, to the conference rooms and briefing halls, places that reminded me of the rooms in Langley, where policy and strategy was crafted away from any other eyes. After stepping out of an elevator on the top floor, I was greeted with more aides, who bowed politely at me.

Walking down the hall from them, we came across two large oak doors, with large bronze handles. Ayanami opened one for me, and I obliged him by entering. The room beyond it was dominated by a large, three-sided square table, with the far end of the room reserved for a speaking podium and a screen. Tinted windows on the right wall provided an empty view of the countryside. One seat had been prepared, the table in front of it covered in printouts, memos, and general information. I took my cue and sat there as the rest filed in before the door closed behind them, with Ayanami taking the podium.

He cleared his throat. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we are once again happy to host another one of our brothers-in-arms, Jacques Pelletier of the Committee for Human Instrumentality. If you would." I filed away that statement for later as I rose from my seat to polite applause, and sat down again. "Mr. Pelletier," Ayanami continued, "the agenda for the morning is to review some of the administrative policies we at Gehirn have been implementing lately."

I nodded, and we proceeded into a morass of trivia. Irrelevant presentations were made on a host of topics, which at times descended into the pedantic. I didn't think that even a genuine Seele member needed to know how many applicants Gehirn was getting per advertising-dollar.

The morning was spent with that gaggle of bureaucrats. I was repeatedly told of the successes various branches had met, the production quotas exceeded, the expanded clientele base, and of the ever-present need for greater funding. That was perhaps the main theme of those morning briefings – that Gehirn desperately required a larger budget to expand their projects, and they didn't seem to care where it came from. The only one who didn't speak was Akagi, who seemed to float through the meeting with blessed indifference. She was a pretty woman, I had to admit, even with the unflattering haircut, and the lines emanating from the corners of her eyes. But those eyes, when they crossed mine, held my attention, but I couldn't articulate why. But the moment passed, and the computer presentations continued.

The mindless minutiae gave me space to think about Ayanami. He, along with Akagi, looked like they had gone through this song and dance before and were sick of it. I thought about how he introduced Jacques – as a member of the Committee for Human Instrumentality. But did he know Jacques was supposed to be a Seele member? He had to know, considering his position. I couldn't do more than speculate.

Nearing noon, Ayanami called for a break in the presentations. "I think our dear Inspector has enough of the background," he said to his deputies, "and I think that's enough for this morning. Thank you all." The department heads made a quick exit, and I was left with Akagi and Ayanami. I let out a deep sigh when the door closed. Ayanami grinned at that, a more natural expression than what he had been showing earlier.

"My thoughts exactly," he said, "but imagine dealing with that every day." Akagi chuckled, a heavy sound, and I could tell she was a smoker from it.

"You have my condolences," I said, "but in every system there needs to be those who check every last detail."

Ayanami kept his smile, but my statement frosted the atmosphere. "Of course, of course," he said, "I suppose we wouldn't be able to get very far unless we triple-checked our work."

"You could call it the essence of the scientific method," Akagi said.

Ayanami stood up from his seat and stretched. Akagi and I took that as our cue and got up as well. "That may be," Ayanami spoke, "but there must also be the vision. Without the urge to look beyond the veil, to step over bounds laid in place by time or timidity, where would we be?" He spoke the words like he had rehearsed them many times for other people. "We must beware that those doing the checking have the same vision as the pathfinders."

Ayanami smiled at me with that, and I nodded my head in assent. "Life in the light, rather than the darkness;" I said, "I have always held it to be better."

"Should we stare at the sun, even if it blinds us?" Akagi's voice came from behind me. She sounded like she was joking, but I was feeling deathly serious. Are they toying with me?

I turned my head to her, and sure enough her face wore a smug smirk on it. "If one person goes blind so that everyone else may see..." I trailed off for a few seconds, desperately trying to think of what to say, "we should honor their sacrifice, and carry on their work."

Ayanami laughed loudly at that. I tensed, wondering if I said the right thing.

Eventually he stopped, and leaned on the conference table. "You're more correct than you know, Inspector." He nodded to Akagi, then looked back at me. "Come with us, we'll show you the real Gehirn."

Something in my chest loosened. Was that some sort of test? Give the right answer to the question? Did they think I would be so stupid as to give myself away through philosophical rhetoric? Well, whatever it was, I seemed to have passed.

I followed the two out the room and back down the pyramid until we went into the basement. There, in a maze of concrete halls and warning signs concerning trespassing, we came across a thin and tall steel door. Next to it was a small box, which Ayanami leaned toward.

He whispered something into it, and we were greeted with a congratulatory pinging sound, after which the door slid open. An extremely well-lit hall was through it, and I had to blink a few times to adjust my eyes to how bright it was. We three passed through the door, and I heard it quietly slide shut behind us. I was inside Gehirn.

"Welcome to the labs, Inspector," Ayanami said, "That's not the usual entrance, but sometimes you have to get through the complex when it's unfavorable out there. Now I believe the Integrated Systems wing shouldn't be too far from here, so we can start there."

As he was speaking a young woman had approached him from behind, but I hadn't been able to get a good look at her face. She spoke up: "Director?"

Ayanami turned around. "Ah! Yes, Mattie, good you're here." He stepped aside and turned to me. "Mattie, this is Inspector Pelletier; Pelletier, this is my special assistant, Mathilda."

I replied on cue, "It's a pleasure, miss-" until I got a good look at 'Mathilda'.

The woman in front of me was Elena Graf, in disguise, but recognizably her. She looked at me, and I could tell she knew it was me. My eyes widened in terror as I saw her's sharpen.

This was a goddamn trap.


	13. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 – The Body / Belly of the Beast  
><strong>"_Now we are all sons of bitches_." - Kenneth Bainbridge

_July 24, 2000  
>T-minus 52 days<em>

"My pleasure to meet you, sir," Elena said. Beyond the slightest look in her eyes, she failed to betray the fact she knew me. She had gone from a brunette to a redhead, and it looked like she had changed her eye color through contact lenses, but it was definitely her, especially when I heard her voice.

My mind raced through ten thousand options. Was the game up already? Ayanami and Akagi had seemed like they had fallen for my routine, but if Elena was here, how much did they know? She could have told them everything about what happened back in Salzburg. Who was she working for?

I felt steel teeth closing in on my ankle.

Ayanami continued on to Elena, apparently not noticing my stumble, "Good, with introductions out of the way we can show the good Inspector what we're _really_ proud of down here. Anything special scheduled for today, Mattie?"

Elena checked her PDA, and made an interested sound. "It looks like the ATF lab is scheduled for a run in a few hours," she said, looking at the device. Her eyes flickered towards Ayanami, and I expected them to rest on me, but she ignored me.

"Ahhh," Ayanami said, "now I remember." He turned to me. "You came on a good day, Inspector – it's not often the ATF lab goes all-out. Mostly due to the power requirements for their experiments. You're in for a treat later on."

I nodded my head. I had no idea what they meant by ATF, but I wasn't about to broadcast my ignorance by asking about it.

"That's not for a while, so until then," Ayanami said as he pointed us down a less bright corridor, "let's have a look at some of the other productions."

The four of us walked purposefully, if not hurried, and we began to pass closed hallways and airlocks, labeled not only with esoteric names: "Neuro-Synapse Digital Integration," "Link Connect Fluid Purification Lab," "MASER Test Chamber;" but also with a myriad of warning signs for each. As we passed by, Ayanami would give a brief and incomprehensible explanation, while Elena and Akagi spoke in lower tones. I heard plenty of numbers between them, but the hairs on the back of my neck kept their rigor mortis position.

I suppressed a tremor as Ayanami spoke a few words with one of the minor project leads. I failed to hear the first part of their speech.

"-think we could visit it now?" Ayanami said.

His interlocutor, a well-dressed older Italian, nodded. "You could also test it out, we've been making great strides in having it respond to generic users."

Ayanami nodded. "Good, good," he said before he turned to me. "Why don't we see the neural interface lab? They always have something fun to play with."

"That sounds like a good idea," I said, "I'd like to see at least a few projects before leaving."

I almost heard Akagi roll her eyes at that. "Well after you're done playing," she said while walking towards a branching path, "then meet me in the Hierophant wing, and I can show you where the _real_ work is being done." She waved, and with Elena in tow, went off.

I wondered when the hammer would fall on me – would I be taken quietly to another building and shot? Or would they torture me beforehand? I had no doubt that if Elena alerted anyone to whom I was, I was a dead man walking. I didn't think they would be as professional as the East Germans had been, and a montage of images flashed before my closed eyes, of myself broken and bloodied.

"Ah, the labs can get a little too cold sometimes, Inspector," Ayanami said. "I'm afraid we all just grin and bear it, if it means the superconductors work," he smiled at that. I hadn't even realized I had shivered.

We followed the Italian for another five minutes, until we were at another set of gunmetal gray airlock doors, these ones labeled with "Project Geppetto". Ayanami placed his palm on a flat black panel set on the wall, and with a quiet whir the doors parted and slid into the wall.

"An effective security measure," I commented as we passed into the lab proper. It was a large space, but partitioned into three separate areas – one of which, about 30 feet squared, was dominated by a robotic copy of the human body, slightly larger than life size. Two men were currently engaged in checking the inside of the machine's left calf. The second was a huge array of computers, and the third was the smallest in comparison, holding only what looked like a dentist's chair and a few monitors.

"Yes, though luckily we've yet to have any unauthorized entries into these levels at all, so in a sense, you could say they're redundant," Ayanami replied. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, this is Project Geppetto, dedicated to perfecting neural control over non-body resources!" Ayanami saw the look of confusion on my face. "That is, looking for a connection scheme that allows a user to control some foreign mechanical object, using only their thoughts." I nodded my head. That I could understand.

"It seems like it could be a great help in perfecting artificial limbs," I said.

"Huh?" Ayanami said. "Ah, well, yes, I suppose so. Well," he continued, "over there as you can see is the test body, and I'm sure you can guess what the team named it!" He laughed. He began ushering me toward the room with the dentist's chair. "Now, if you'll come with me, you can see for yourself how far we've come in this project."

The Italian broke off and headed toward the cluster of computers, and I went into the partitioned space. Ayanami closed the door behind me, and I nearly jumped. '_Christ, this was a damn stupid idea,'_ I thought, trying to come up with a way to get out of there without getting myself killed. But the only plan that seemed like it might work was to do what I said I would do, see a few of these projects, ask one or two questions about Antarctica, and then leave as quickly as possible. But hadn't I come here for more than that?

"If you'll take a seat, Inspector?" Ayanami said. I obliged, and sat back in the chair. My body sank into the smooth material a few fractions of an inch. Some more techs came in and began fiddling with various instruments. I almost expected straps to be placed around my ankles and wrists. I tried to keep my breathing normal.

"Please lift your head," one of them asked me, and as I did, she placed several electrodes around my skull, before lowering a helmet over my head. I took a few breaths to try and calm myself.

"So let me give you the run down," I heard Ayanami, "that helmet will give you the view from the machine, and once we give you the go signal, all you need to do from there is think the movements you want to make. The computer will detect the signals from your brain, and transmit them to the testbed. You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I replied.

Ayanami spoke a few words to the techs, who began making esoteric calls and responses. I closed my eyes for a few seconds.

"Alright, Inspector, give it a shot," one of the techs said.

I opened my eyes, and saw the white floor of the robot's area on the inside of the helmet. I turned my head, and the view changed as well. I could see the shoulder of the machine, and beyond that, the wall.

"You don't need to move your own head, Inspector," Ayanami said, "just think it."

"Right," I said, moving my head back to front. I let out a deep breath, and thought about moving my right arm straight up. The machine started and stopped a few times, until it began to lift its right arm. First it held it at horizontal, and then with another thought it was brought vertical.

I bent the elbow and brought the hand in front of the cameras, twisting the palm to my 'face'. I concentrated on each of my fingers, one at a time, and bent and straightened them. It took a few moments to differentiate between the ring and small finger, but after a minute or two I could flex them well.

"It seems a little stiff," I said, interlacing the fingers of the two hands.

"Well, the machine still lags behind the natural balance of the human form, even one so advanced as here. In a few years, though, we should be able to make something that moves just like you or I do," Ayanami said. He stopped for a second. "Why don't you try walking around?"

For ten minutes I tested the interface, doing rudimentary tasks like stacking blocks, but also athletic tests such as jumping jacks. I was amazed at how it worked. It felt almost like a dream – I could feel the seat underneath my body, but my mind was involved elsewhere in controlling the machine. Absent a few times when the computers were unable to parse what I wanted to do, leading to the testbed falling on its face more than once, it worked remarkably well.

After the techs removed the helmet, I had to take a few breaths to remind myself that I had been seated the whole time.

"It's incredible, isn't it?" Ayanami asked after I had thanked the team and we'd departed back into the main corridors.

"I can't imagine seeing anything like that anywhere else in the world," I replied.

Ayanami chuckled. "You've got that right. You'd be amazed at how many people will ship themselves halfway across the planet if you promise consistent funding."

"It always comes down to that, doesn't it?" I said.

"Well not always," Ayanami replied. We passed by a pair of researchers discussing focal wavelengths. "But it helps, as I'm sure you know."

Yeah, I knew.

We turned a corner, and I was met with a security checkpoint. Two uniformed men with HKs waited in a small room in charge of this next door. I froze. This was it, I thought. My incredibly reckless plan was about to blow up in my face, and I was going to die that very day.

"No need to worry, Inspector, you're my guest," Ayanami said. He walked up to the checkpoint and handed his ID card through the glass (bullet-proof, I was sure). The guard took the card, scanned it, and spoke a few words to the Director. The guard smiled at something, and nodded at me. Hitting a button hidden from my view, the door slid open.

"Come now, Inspector Pelletier," Ayanami said, "and I can show you the _real_ cutting edge work we do here."

"Project Hierophant?" I asked, remembering the name Akagi had given.

"Not just that," Ayanami said. The security door closed behind me, and we went deeper into the wing. After a few minutes walk, we ran into Akagi, speaking to some subordinate or another. The man was getting a dressing-down, I could tell from his posture. And something told me I wouldn't want to be the man to piss off Dr. Akagi. The woman was shorter than him, but she was pushing into his personal space, keeping him off balance. A lit cigarette was held in her left hand.

"No, I'm telling you the nutrient solution needs to be less acidic," she said, oblivious to our approach, "unless you _want_ the whole machine to corrode into uselessness in twelve days!" She shoved a PDA into his chest, pushing him back a foot. "Get it _right_ before I kick you out of the bio-lab and do it myself!"

"Yes ma'am," the assistant said before noticing the Director and me, at which point he ran off. Akagi looked at his back for a second, confused, before she turned and saw us as well.

"Oh!" Akagi jumped a little. "I didn't expect to see you two so soon." She looked at me. "How was the puppet play?" she asked before taking a drag.

"Fascinating, if a little unnerving at first," I said. Akagi let out a short bark of a laugh.

"Tell me about it," she said, "that helmet scared the crap out of me the first time I tried it on. I thought it might electrocute me."

"She's telling the truth," Ayanami joined in, "you could hear her hyperventilate from outside the lab."

We laughed at the joke. I wondered how I could laugh with people who wouldn't care if I lived or died. "Come on, let me show you perhaps the second jewel of Gehirn," Akagi said.

"Only second, Doctor?" Ayanami said as Akagi led us into her domain, "I'd have expected you to aim for first place, especially in front of the Inspector."

"Well, normally I would," she said, talking over her shoulder, "but even I have to admit that it's the M-B team that's charting completely unknown ground." She stopped at a door, and put out her stub.

We entered, greeted by huge rows of black cases stacked next to each other in a cold room. Akagi waved toward them. "So, this is Hierophant. The most advanced computer on this planet, capable of feats of computation as far beyond the modern PC as that is from ENIAC." She sighed. "Were I anywhere else, this would be the crowning achievement of a life's work. But everyone does work with supercomputers these days, so even Hierophant isn't as out there as what some other scientists are working on." Akagi got a little unfocused. "Now, the computer I'm thinking of _now_-"

"You mean like Katsuragi?" I asked, missing the end of her sentence.

She stopped, sighed, then put her hand on one of the black cases and thought for a second. "Well, the Super Solenoid theory sounds like a crackpot to me, but some of the higher-ups seem to think it has potential." She looked at me with that. Seele must be the ones driving that research, I realized. Akagi went on, "I was thinking more of Rokobungi's work on the physical nature of emotional states, as described in an AT Field. That's the kind of research no one else can do."

"I can't say I've heard of him," I said.

Ayanami came in. "Gendo Rokobungi. 33 years old, PhD maybe 6 years ago, advisor being the eminent Dr. Fuyutsuki, an old colleague of mine. Officially attached to the Kyoto Artificial Evolution Laboratory, but he's currently down in Antarctica with you-know-what."

Both Akagi and I shot our eyes to the Director. He looked taken aback at our reactions. "What?" he asked Akagi, "you know the Inspector already knows what's down there." He looked at me. "And she's already been briefed on the Egg. Besides, it's not like security will hear us or anything."

Akagi covered her face with her hand. "God damn it. You ever learn the meaning of 'secret'?"

I came in. I had to play my part. "Akagi's right, Director. You never know who might be listening in on your conversations. I'm going to warn you off the record this time."

Ayanami looked between Akagi and me, and deflated a little. "Ah, yes sir. Sorry, I suppose I got a little carried away."

"We will need to talk about the work down there," I said, "but it can wait."

Ayanami nodded his head. Good, I could push him a little if necessary.

Akagi continued with her tour of Hierophant. After we left the cold room, she showed us the programming quarters, and I commented on the proliferation of post-it notes on everything. "We all have our ways of keeping things organized, Inspector. This one's mine," she said, a little annoyed.

The rest of the Hierophant project went over my head. All I got from Akagi's explanations was the extensive cost of research & development. I could see why the people here were so desiring of the money from Seele – no way in hell would Akagi have been able to get 30 million dollars a year for her department from a national government, unless, I thought, she could convince the Joint Chiefs something like Hierophant would perfect the Ballistic Missile Shield. Like that could happen.

She also started talking more about her newest brainchild, the "Magi Project." Where Hierophant used neural nets to learn, she explained, Magi would almost be able to have personality. A biological system would be able to bypass some of the limitations the electronic systems of Hierophant hit up against. It sounded like pure fiction to me, but I wasn't the one who had spent her life so far on the material.

"And all this with a teenaged daughter," Ayanami said, sounding proud of her. Akagi sent him another glare, one that was something more vicious than when she had been pissed at his lack of secrecy.

"Yes, Director, I have a daughter, you hardly need to continue bringing it up as if she were some albatross across my neck." Her right hand thrust into the pocket of her lab coat, and she was fingering something. I assumed it was a carton of cigarettes. I glanced over her left hand – no wedding ring. Ayanami hastily apologized, but both Akagi and I could tell he didn't really mean it.

As the three of us were at the tail end of the tour, I caught sight of Elena walking away from us. I realized I had to do something about her.

"If you'll excuse me for a few moments, I'd like to have a word with E-" I caught myself, afraid I had just given myself away.

"Mathilda?" Ayanami said, "go ahead. You can meet us at Akagi's office when you're done. I still have one thing I want to show you."

I nodded, and headed after Elena. I thought I heard Ayanami quietly say "go get her, chief."

"Miss Mathilda," I said to her as I got near. She turned around and looked a little defensive. "If you could come with me, I'd like to have a little talk with you about your duties here." She brushed some of her hair from her face.

"Sure," she said, with her voice betraying nothing, "where would you like to go?"

I leaned in a little. "Someplace private," I clipped out. Elena nodded, then motioned towards a fairly inconspicuous door set in a little alcove. I followed her to it, and looked around to see no one was around us.

She opened it to a decently sized closet, dark at the moment. I closed the door behind me, ready to start asking some questions, when Elena wheeled around on her feet to face me.

"What the _goddamn hell_ are you doing here, Charles!" Elena hissed at me. I paused. Not what I had expected.

"Me?" I shot back, "what the hell are _you_ doing here?" I took a breath. "I told you I was investigating Gehirn. And I seem to recall you telling me you had never touched them before I came to you." I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her face close to mine. "What's going on here, Elena? Who are you working for? Why'd you lie to me?"

She turned her face away from me. "Elena! Look at me." Her eyes slowly moved towards me. "Elena, Gehirn and Seele are up to something big, something neither want public. I was nearly killed in Russia by their agents." I paused. "Submachine guns and grenades, they were not fucking around. Look, if you can help me, I need your help, and maybe I can help you too." She looked at my face and I saw her anger replaced with something else. Pity? Or just sympathy?

I could feel Elena shiver slightly. "I'm not freelance, as you can probably tell," she eventually said. "I'm NSA. Here to investigate Gehirn, obviously."

"What do they want here?" I asked. She looked at me like I was stupid.

"Did you or did you not have your eyes open while Hiro took you around? Do you realize that Akagi's Magi system could, if it works, crack RSA encryption? You don't think the military couldn't use the superconductors made here? This whole place is fucking filled to the brim with things the United States could use."

She had a point. That had been a somewhat stupid question.

"Then why'd you lie to me in Salzburg? What were you even doing there?" I asked.

Elena brushed my hand off her arm, now that I wasn't holding her in a vice. She sighed. "Look, Charles, when you gave me the password, you used one that had been deemed so compromised by the CIA and NSA, that anyone using it was to be suspected as a double-agent or a fake. So you'll have to forgive me if I didn't want to get too involved with you."

I rubbed my forehead for a second. Then it hit me. "You called me Charles," I said.

Elena stopped for a moment, her mouth slightly open. "Christ, you called me Charles," I kept on it. I shook my head. "God damn it," I said quietly, "God damn that bastard."

"What?" Elena said.

Silvestre. That God damn son of a bitch. I reeled at what might have been. If I hadn't been blacklisted. If I had been trusted. It was too much to chew on right then.

"Nothing, it's not you," I replied.

"Charles, what are you doing here?" she asked. "When I saw you I thought for a second you really were an Inspector from Seele." I laughed somewhat bitterly at that. I ran my hand over my face.

"There's something huge happening in Antarctica," I said. Elena sat on the edge of a shelf. "I don't know what's down there, but whatever it is, it's got some of Gehirn's top brass down there, and a hell of a lot of interest from Seele. Have you ever heard mention of a moon?"

Elena shook her head. "No, I don't think I have." She smiled. "I've heard some of the scientists talk about how they want a moon _base_, but not connected to Antarctica."

I squeezed my hand a few times. "I need to ask you to do something," I said.

"You can ask, doesn't mean I'll say yes," Elena said. I snorted.

"I bet you have access to Ayanami's office, his personal files, things like that?"

She smirked at my question. "I'm surprised Captain Berg hasn't torn all his hair out over how Ayanami just forgets all the security protocols."

"Head of security?" She nodded. "Yeah I can see that." I bit the inside of my cheek, "can you get in and find everything you can on Antarctica? On the 'moon' that's so important? Ayanami'll be occupied with me for at least a little longer."

Elena took an exaggerated breath, smiled, but it faded over a few seconds. "You know," she said towards the ground, "you really scared me when you showed up. I was sure I was a goner."

"Yeah, well, the feeling was mutual," I said. She looked up and smiled at that.

"I'll see what I can do," Elena said as she stood up and smoothed her skirt, "but I don't know what I can guarantee."

"Whatever you can get. Every piece has its place," I said.

Elena nodded, before pulling out a small piece of paper with a pen and wrote something down. She gave it to me and I saw it was an address. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening, and we both can go over what I get."

"We?" I said.

Elena cocked one of her eyebrows. "You think I'm going to risk my life even more than usual and then not get to figure out the context of why?"

"To be fair, it's what my generation was used to doing," I said. Elena hit my chest lightly, and I chuckled.

"Alright, then you go and distract Ayanami, and I'll get cracking," Elena moved toward the door before I stopped her. "What?" she said.

I sighed, "Ayanami thinks I came here to fuck you." Elena's mouth drew into a tight line.

"Bastard's been pawing at my ass ever since I arrived. Fun fact, we've got evidence of him fathering at least 3 children to different mothers, two of whom are not in this country. Of course he thinks so," she said. We paused for a second. If asked, I would have honestly answered that if I could sleep with Elena, I would, but not here, not now. Elena was the first to move, and started messing up her hair and and rearranging her clothes. I followed, taking off my jacket and re-buttoning my shirt. After making sure we looked at least a little disheveled, Elena took my chin in her hand and kissed me on the lips. Her lips were very soft.

Pulling back, she used her finger to press around my lips. "There," she said as she pulled back, "you look like a real seducer now."

I knew she didn't mean it as an insult, but it still stung.

Elena put her hand to the door, and I stopped her again. She looked at me and her face said "Now what?"

"Be careful, alright?" I said, "No stupid mistakes, just get in and out."

She smiled. "Says the man who's impersonating a global conspirator." She opened the door.

The two of us ducked out of the closet, and Elena led me to Akagi's office. I nodded to her, and she walked away, her heels producing a soft tinking sound that eventually faded from my hearing.

I opened the door, and both Akagi & Ayanami shot their eyes to me. They were seated, looking over some personnel files. Akagi's office was sparse, and I was a little surprised. The only personal decoration being a photo of a brown-haired girl, most likely her daughter. I could read their reactions to how I looked – Akagi was scornful, Ayanami vindicated. But I had to play the part. "Well, you said there was one thing left I needed to see?" I asked.

Ayanami got up from his chair. "Just, get rid of him if you don't think he's any good," he said to Akagi, "we can find you another programmer, I'm sure of it." Akagi nodded, and signed another piece of paper as Ayanami took me outside.

"Close the door," Akagi said from her desk, and Ayanami complied.

"Right," he said, and checked his watch. "Perfect, we'll get there just in time for the show." He started walking away, and I followed. We went deeper into the restricted area, and deeper below ground, though how far I couldn't tell.

"So, how was she?" Ayanami asked me as we were walking down a long sloped hall.

"Hmm?" I noised. "Oh, Mathilda?"

Ayanami gave me a lecherous grin. "That's right," he laughed. "I have to say, ever since she got here I've been thinking about making a move on her, but she just feels cold to me. What'd you do?"

I looked away from Ayanami. "Nothing special," I said, hoping that the tone of voice would convince him to lay off the subject.

He made a noise, some cross between a laugh and a sigh, and we kept going in silence. Soon enough, we came across a large sign: "_Metaphysical Biology Department – NO Unauthorized Personnel_". Below it was an airlock. I entered with Ayanami, and waited a few seconds as the pressure cycled. I had to pop my ears as the inner door opened.

Just as we entered the section, two men came to greet us. They were dressed in clean suits, and I saw thick goggles hanging from their belts. "Inspector, Director, if you could come with us, we'll get you ready for the test," one of them said.

We followed along to a small side room, where I was helped into putting on a suit over my uniform. "I can understand it being a little annoying," my assistant said, "but we need to keep the lab as clean as possible."

"I understand," I replied as I put on the hood over my head. I felt bulky and awkward, but at least I hadn't needed to go through some decontamination sequence. I exited the room, and saw Ayanami in the same getup. He looked a little ridiculous.

"So what's this test about to happen?" I asked. Ayanami opened his mouth when a base intercom went off.

"All necessary personnel, report to your stations in preparation for the Anti-AT Field test. Drs. Larkin, Webster, Somov, and Soto, please report to the decontamination chamber immediately." The voice was female, and spoke in a slight British accent.

"You'll see," Ayanami finally said. He struggled with his words for a few steps. We started walking along a corridor curving to the right. "It's... how knowledgeable are you in Metaphysical Biology?" he asked.

"Little," I quickly replied. More suited men and women walked and ran past us.

"Ok then. You know the AT-Field?"

"I've heard the term," I said.

Ayanami let out a deep sigh. I was going to make him work on this explanation. "Basically, the AT Field is what separates a living organism from something either dead or inanimate. Everything living has one, from you and me to an E. coli bacterium. But it's difficult to measure certain properties in a field, which is why we have the Anti-AT Field. By causing the two to interact, our instruments can get a really good view of an organisms field."

I nodded my head. "Sounds almost hylemorphic to me."

Ayanami creased his brows. "Can't say I've heard of that before, but the AT-Field is essentially the object of study for Metaphysical Biology. And the only place you can do these kinds of tests with one directly is here."

With that, we came to the end of the corridor, and entered a long room, one wall of which looked into the large circular chamber we had gone around. I had never seen anything like it before in my life. The room was large, about 100 feet in diameter, but what caught me the most was what was inside. The chamber held a series of circular arrangements of black pylons, hexagonal in shape, and about 6 feet high. Three circles of pylons, one on the roof, two on the ground, radiated from the center, where there was a small dais. And that was it.

"What in the world?" I quietly said as the researchers and technicians prepared the observation room.

"Inner chamber opening," I heard someone say. Inside the test room a door had opened, and someone in a full, bright orange Hazmat suit stepped into the chamber. In his hands was a plastic case holding a white rat. It ran from side to side, sniffing at its prison. The suited man walked through the pylons and placed the case in the middle of the dais, before quickly making his way back through the door he came in.

"Test subject present," another voice said.

"Here," someone said, handing me a pair of goggles, "you can wear these if you want, but they're not necessary." They walked off before I could respond. I looked at Ayanami, but he was busy speaking to another scientist. I turned my attention to the rat.

"Alright everyone, ready the base," I heard Ayanami say. The white lights turned off, replaced by red emergency lighting. Everyone grew quiet, and I felt a nervous energy around me. "How's the power situation look?" he asked, getting an answer that was good enough.

"Alright, beginning test... now!" he said.

The pylons turned on, with patterns that looked like either glyphs or circuitry along their sides lighting up. The inner ring on the ground began moving clockwise. I hadn't expected that. The rat looked agitated.

The ring sped up, until it was making several revolutions a minute. Then the second ring on the ceiling began moving counter-clockwise. Someone began reading off numbers, but I didn't know what they referred to. The rat looked like it wanted to back away from the pylons, but there was nowhere for it to turn to.

The third ring began to move, also clockwise. Soon enough all three were rapidly spinning around the rat. It had moved from agitated to scared, and was frantically scratching at the inner corners of the box, trying to find a way out. It tried to stick its nose through one of the small holes in the side.

I thought this would be the end of the test, but I was mistaken. The etchings on the pylons began glowing, starkly white in the red atmosphere, leaving trails in my vision. I thought about putting on the goggles, but decided not to.

"Calibrating field," I heard someone say.

After he said that, what looked like a thin mist began to appear in the test room inside the ring of pylons, dark in color. At the same time a few dark splotches began appearing on the rat's coat and the floor of the cage. The rat looked like it was bleeding as it desperately tried to escape. Then the spots began multiplying. The rat stopped scratching at the cage, its white coat now completely stained.

Before I could finish saying "What the Hell?" the rat melted into a red puddle.


	14. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 – Places Where Only the Wind Blows I**

_July 25, 2000  
><em>_T-minus 51 days_

I was drinking that night. I had been, pretty much since I got out of Gehirn.

It had worked. Insanely, my reckless plan to waltz into the camp of the enemy had succeeded, beyond my wildest expectations. Part of why I drank was to celebrate that. I was alive, when I had been sure for a few moments earlier I was going to die.

And I was happy to be alive. I was happy that I wouldn't be thrown into a rough grave. I was happy I could spend one more day feeling sorry for myself.

Sitting in an apartment in Berlin, I watched the clock strike 1 AM. In one hand I held my bottle of gin, in the other Yomiko's beads.

No word from Pauli, but I had told him that he was off the hook if he got me into Gehirn. He'd probably washed his hands of the whole affair by this point.

It had been difficult, but after the test I had pulled Ayanami into an empty room so we could have a quick chat about Antarctica. According to him, everything concerning the S2 Engine was on schedule, though the "contact experiment" would have to be delayed from its September 1st date. I asked him if he was still under budget, to which he blanched, and then responded angrily, saying that one "Chairman Lorenz" had given him his personal assurance that anything to do with the White Moon was under no restriction. Feigning calm, I replied to him that while the chairman could speak for himself, there were other members with their own interests at keeping the cash flow as low as possible.

That had calmed the man down somewhat, before he picked up a sly grin. "Of course, of course," he said, "look, you can tell your boss we have everything under control here espionage-wise, especially after we got rid of that fat Russian. Your boss has been very helpful in pointing out when we need to keep an eye out."

I had so badly wanted to learn more, but I needed to get out of Gehirn. After that, I left, and I found myself out of immediate danger.

Christ, I was happy to be alive.

But I also drank to try and forget. To try and forget that pathetic animal, disappearing into a puddle of its own organic compounds.

"Water, bound oxygen, various lipids, protein strands, amino acids, iron, calcium, potassium," I said quietly to myself. Ayanami had explained the test to me afterward, as two men in hazmat suits removed the cage, with its load of red water.

The best way to pinpoint a particular AT Field was to bombard a subject with an Anti-AT Field, and calibrate the latter until it neutralized the former. In the process, the subject's AT Field would collapse, letting the researchers get their data. But when an organism loses its AT Field, the body loses its cohesion, and falls apart. What you're left with is a mixture of basic organic compounds, the stuff of life itself. They called it Link Connect Fluid at Gehirn.

Ayanami made it sound so simple.

But the goddamn rat had _melted._

I took a slug straight from the bottle. I didn't like gin, but it was what I had on hand.

Jesus.

I rested my forehead on the side of the glass bottle, and slowly swung the beads around my finger. After a second I put the bottle down and groped along the table for my second pack of cigarettes that night, but when I clutched it I could feel it was already empty.

I had asked Ayanami if they could do it to a person. He had laughed nervously, said of course not, the power requirements would be astronomical. He had issues drawing enough power from the rest of the base to get a rat, let alone anything bigger. Even he seemed a little distraught to think about the possibility.

But an image persisted in my mind. Of my children, disappearing in a moment, leaving only their empty clothes soaking in a puddle of red.

I didn't sleep much that night.

* * *

><p><em>July 25, 2000<br>__T-minus 51 days_

I waited for Elena at the address she had given me, having decided to let myself in the back so that I wasn't seen lurking around the streets. It was a quiet neighborhood, but each window seemed to hold too many secret dangers.

The small house was dark in the evening, and there wasn't much there to make it feel lived-in. A pretty typical safe-house – a little bit of non-perishable food and drink (my eyes noted the bourbon), a wall safe I found behind a hanging mirror in a hall, and other details I recognized.

I spent half an hour checking the entire place for any surveillance equipment. But even after looking through the flower pots and behind the larger furniture I didn't find anything. I wondered if I needed to look more, but then decided to rather sit down and take a drink to calm my nerves. Two shots later, I felt a little more relaxed.

A little later I heard someone at the front door. I bolted upright, and quickly stole away outside of view of the entrance. I heard the other close the door, turn on the light and stop. They were too quiet.

Eventually a voice came out. "Charles?" It was Elena. I let out the breath I was holding.

"It's me," I replied, poking my head out towards the entrance. Elena stood there, but something was different about her. She looked different from the other day, looked almost brittle, as if the slightest shock might shatter her. Very different from the vivacious woman I had come to expect.

She was shaking. "Is someone after you?" I asked. She shook her head.

"No. No. I'm OK. Just..." she took a few steps forward and handed me a large bag. "You were right. There is something _very_ big happening down there." With that she let go and walked past me into the living room. She sat down on a chair, saw I had out the bourbon, and helped herself to a generous glass of it as I sat down on the leather couch. I put the bag on the table between us.

I waited until Elena had had a chance to balance herself a little. She finished her glass, and I poured another for her and for myself. "So," I said, "you found something."

Elena finished gulping down the liquor. "Yeah. I- I didn't look through much, I just took my pictures quickly and then got out, but..." she trailed off. She opened up the bag, and pulled out a stack of folders. She opened the first one, and handed me a photo. I looked at it, but I didn't know how to process what I saw.

It jutted from the ice and rock, huge compared to the earth-moving equipment around it. It looked like a human body, bent in an arc towards the ground, half-encased in an ancient prison. From its back sprang a towering two-pronged spear. Written on the bottom of the photo was a date – 07/24/99 – and a name –'Adam'.

"Mother of God," I found myself saying.

"You don't know what it is either?" Elena asked. I blinked a few times, wondering if I was just seeing the image wrong, but it remained.

"Jesus, I have no idea. I've... I've heard mention of a 'moon', or an 'egg', but not 'Adam'." I leaned back and looked to Elena. "And there's more?" She nodded.

I pulled out my notes, and we began the long process of trying to put pieces together. I told Elena of what I knew about Seele, Gehirn, and the constellation of organizations that were connected between them. With the added information she had gathered, some of my worst fears were confirmed.

We had confirmation that high-ranking UN officials were, if not part of Seele's leadership, part of the same level that "Pelletier" had been. I recognized some of the names as having been part of American military intelligence.

"You said you were in Gehirn for the tech, right?" I asked Elena.

She nodded, "That was the only thing I was told to look for. This... this is so far from what I, or anyone I know who's ever looked at Gehirn expected."

That was bad. But did it mean that Elena's superiors were merely unaware of what Gehirn had been doing so far, or was it because they were turning a blind eye? Elena seemed to guess my thinking.

"I'm not sure," she said, "I thought I could trust my bosses, but now..." she trailed off.

"Let's see what else is here, before we plan our next moves," I said.

We. Did I mean that? Or was I merely humoring Elena while I had to?

A while later, I paused over a personnel list. "Ikari Gendo" was listed as head of the metaphysical biology team. When did his name change, and why to that? I looked back at my notes for the picture of Yui – a pretty girl. I looked at his photo on the file – a hard man, that I could tell purely from his eyes, a tough jawline, a bearing lean and hungry. A familiar face, I had to admit. "He must have married her," I said to myself. Or did she marry him? She was deep in Seele's work, not that you'd think it looking at her. Who was using whom there?

"What was that?" Elena asked.

"Hm? Sorry, I'm looking at the Ikari daughter and her husband," I said. Elena made a noise at that, and I moved to look at her.

"Now that I think about it, I remember some of the scientists from Japan mentioning a wedding not too long ago. Maybe it was them?" she asked.

I shrugged. No matter now. Both may have been neck-deep in it, but they weren't the ones I was after. None of them were "Lorenz." Whoever he was.

It turned out that one entire section of the information was dedicated to what Gehirn had found there, what they named 'Adam'. Discovered in 1997 during the 3rd United Nations Geological Survey, it was ancient. Encased in a massive sphere of rock approximately 13 kilometers in diameter, it was older than any rock formation on the planet. Some of the scientists theorized it had always, in a sense, been a part of Earth, that it had been hanging in the void accreting with the rest of the planet so many billions of years ago.

As for Adam itself, the questions outweighed the answers. It was over 40 meters tall, completely unlike any other lifeform on Earth, and no one could obtain a sample of the spear skewering it. It seemed to prove that we were not alone, that somewhere, even if billions of years ago, there was life beyond our own in the universe. Both incredible and unsettling as that was, it seemed from the internal memoranda that what achieved the most excitement inside Gehirn was the presence of one of Katsuragi's fabled S2 engines in the giant being itself. The possibility of nigh-limitless power was there, and there were dozens of ideas on how to either extract it from Adam, or activate it, or harness its energy.

Instead of those, it seemed, Katsuragi was ordering a "contact experiment," but there was no explanation as to what that actually entailed, only a reference to the installation of "Field pylons, groups A-ZZ." It made me think of the rat in Gehirn, and made me wonder how the Hell Gehirn thought they could do the same thing to something so huge.

I spent a lot of time looking at the included photos of Antarctica. The area was a desert, devoid of all life.

What were they doing down there?

What did they think they were doing?

* * *

><p><em>July 26, 2000<br>T-minus 50 days_

Early, early in the morning, we seemed to have wrung what we could out of Elena's material. We had proof that Gehirn was hiding something monumental, something of incomparable importance.

Elena finished off the bottle of bourbon, and placed it on the table with a measured delicacy. "So," she said, looking at me and lightly swaying in her seat, "where do you go from here?"

I lobbed the last folder onto the low table, where it slid noisily a few inches before stopping. Over the past hours the room had changed – a layer of stale smoke hung below the ceiling, I had knocked over a lamp stand two hours earlier, and all around were loose papers, with notes, cross-references, theories, and the like. The room was sweltering, even after Elena had turned off the heating system. Both of us had stripped down somewhat, and it was hard not to notice Elena.

"Well, I-" I was cut off when I began coughing. I pulled out a handkerchief, when something unexpected happened. The cough started like a normal smoker's cough, but after a few seconds I couldn't stop, until I was hacking, my entire chest heaving. Elena got up from her chair, but I tried to wave her off. She ignored me and ran to the kitchen as I continued to evacuate my lungs. I wondered what had happened to my body to make me do this now, as slowly my chest slowed down and came back to a regular breathing. I wiped my mouth with the kerchief, and noticed there was a small mark of blood on it. I swallowed hard, and hurriedly put it away as Elena came back with some water.

"You alright?" she asked as she handed me the glass. I eagerly accepted it, and gulped it down, feeling it soothe my ravaged throat. Elena sat down near me on the couch, concern on her features.

I waved her off. "Sure, sure, I'm fine now." I took a breath. "That'll teach me to smoke for damn near 40 years," I said, putting a wry smile on to show her I was fine now. She returned it.

"Maybe you should quit now?" she suggested.

I shook my head. "It's a little late for that now, you know. After a while... it gets hard to knock the bad habits." I paused, collecting my thoughts. "And most of the time it's easier to just soldier on then try quitting," I concluded.

"Inspiring words," Elena shot back.

"You asked," I retorted, badly. I took a deep breath.

"I'm not sure where to go from here," I said. I motioned towards the pile of material we had just gone over, "I could give the CIA everything and just because it came from me they'd consider it some kind of hoax or ploy I made up to get back in the good graces of the Agency." I looked at Elena. "And we're not even sure if your bosses are being honest with you."

"Maybe it's something even above them?" she said.

"It could be!" I replied. "I mean, for all we know, the goddamn President himself might be some kind of cog in this bullshit."

Elena was silent for a time. "Then... maybe we should step away?"

I turned my head to face her. There was something familiar in her eyes, like when I had confronted her with the list of fake companies back in Salzburg. I hadn't placed it then, but I thought I could place it now – her eyes reminded me of Agnes, the look she had in her eyes after Yomiko had died. A wary look, but also... expectant?

"Step away?" I repeated.

"Look, I! I mean," she sputtered a bit, "we don't know what's going on down there, Charles. Maybe it _is_ just scientific research? And they're just being secretive about it because _everyone_ is when it comes to their findings? We've just sort of assumed that what's going on is dangerous, but how do we know? What if we're just seeing demons in the shadows, because that what we want to see?"

I kept my gaze on her eyes. They didn't waver.

"You're right," I started, "we can't be sure that this Adam is dangerous or harmful. But I also sure as Hell don't want men like Ayanami having control over it. And even beyond him, what about his backers? People who want to redesign human nature, and that's what some of them want to do, usually end up with a giant pile of bodies of people who were just fine before." I leaned over to the table and pulled out the photo of Adam. "If there is some S2 Engine in this thing, that's a lot of power in the hands of men who are _not_ the best ones to have it." I let out a sigh. "Seele, or Gehirn, or the Instrumentality whatever, killed my best friend, and they've tried to kill me too, just for looking into this. That tells me they don't have the best of intentions with whatever their goals are."

Elena was quiet for a long time. I thought for a few moments I had failed to convince her.

She was looking towards some vague point beyond me to my left, before she turned her eyes back to me. "Alright then, but that still leaves us with what to do now."

I let out a breath. "There's a little left. I have a name for Seele's chairman. 'Lorenz'."

"Well that narrows a lot of Germany down," she replied, shifting her weight a little.

"That's not all. Back in Russia I found some documents that referred to the Dead Sea Scrolls as something extremely significant to Seele, even as predicting Adam's existence."

This caught Elena's attention. "Really?"

"So I looked them up. Mostly unremarkable to my eyes, except that there was a brief expedition to the Dead Sea by a contingent of German Biblicists back in 1947, including one Conrad Lorenz."

"Go on," she said.

Something rhythmic started passing between us. "One problem, Lorenz died in '48. Tragic motor accident."

"Easy way to disappear," she said.

"Could be, but even so, he'd be close to a hundred years old by now. So maybe he did bite it, and the chairman now is a relative, or someone unrelated. But there's still one member of that expedition still alive. Dr. Maria Span, of Oberbayern, currently in secluded retirement."

"You're going?" she leaned forward slightly, and I tried hard to keep my eyes on her face.

"That's what seems necessary. Nothing that's public about the Scrolls seems related to Seele's work so far – they're mostly versions of Old Testament books, some religious literature from around the time of Christ, the like."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're right. Hard to see how that fits with a giant encased in rock."

"That's my thinking. That's why I'll be going down there as soon as I can. Probably the next day or so."

"And what about me?" she asked.

I tightened my lips. "I want you to do some counter-intelligence back in the States."

Her eyes shot open. "What?" she yelled indignantly.

"Listen to me, God damn it!" I yelled back. "Look, you can't trust your bosses, and I've been cut completely loose. If we're going to get this information to where it can do some good, we need to lay the groundwork now. We don't know who might be working for Seele, or sympathetic to them. You still have access to the NSA, you have people you can trust there. You can start working on a network that we can rely on outside of official channels. That's why you should head back."

"That's some fancy bullshit," Elena replied.

"What?" I said.

"No, you listen!" she said. "You know as well as I do that if I leave that post in Gehirn, we'll never get it back. While I'm there, we have someone on the inside. It took the NSA years to prep that spot for me, and I'm not willing to give it up after just getting into it. Frankly, of the two of us, you're the one best placed to work on finding where we can bring this. But while I'm on the inside, I can do everything I can under their noses."

I rubbed my forehead. "No, we... we can find another way in-"

"No, we won't! Charles!" Elena grabbed my chin and forced me to look at her. "What is wrong with you? Why don't you trust me?"

I grabbed Elena's forearm and pulled it away from my face. "I do! I do trust you. But..." I lost my words as my tongue cleaved to the top of my mouth. I told the truth. "Elena, I don't want to see you dead," I said with a quiet voice.

The words hung in the air, as thick as the cigarette smoke. Elena slowly drew herself out of my grip, and settled back down next to me. She licked her lips before speaking. "I know what the stakes are, Charles. I'm not a complete rookie to this business. If we're going to work together on this, and I want to help you, Charles, you're going to need to trust me to do my job well."

I sat silently. All I could think of was my own failure at the end, the one wrong move that broke everything apart. It didn't matter how good a spy you were. You could still end up failing.

I swallowed hard. "Alright. Alright then. After the Doctor, I'll see what I can drum up with an old friend of mine in MI6."

Elena smiled, and truth be told it was a delight to see, the way Yomiko or Agnes smiling had bolstered my spirits once.

We sat there, quietly, as the first pink strands began to reach over the Eastern horizon. '_Christ, the time went by fast,_' I thought, running a hand through my hair.

Elena yawned, "Well, I think that's a good night's work, don't you?"

I nodded. "I think we're good for tonight."

Elena smiled, and her eyes traveled around me. She took in a nervous breath before moving closer to me. I tensed as I felt her lean forward on to me. "You know," she said, "you're welcome to stay with me if you'd like."

Jesus, how I wanted to. My mouth grew dry, I felt my heart thud in my chest, as I felt her body touch mine. Her breath on my skin and whispering by my ear nearly killed me.

I looked at Elena, looked at her face. And something stopped me from taking her like I had taken so many other women since Yomiko's death. As much as I wanted to have her, I couldn't do it. Gently, quietly, I put my hands on Elena's shoulders and moved her from me. I got up from the seat and put on the coat I had taken off earlier.

I made to leave when Elena called out. "Charles, wait!"

I turned, and saw her, still on the couch, looking at me with surprise. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

I cut in, "It's OK," I said, and her face lost some of its somber tone. "I'll contact you after I meet the Doctor." With that, I left. And as I made my way through the streets I wondered why Elena had offered that, if it had been to seal the deal? Or maybe she had just felt lonely in the face of a world that looked like it was out to get her? Not for the first time in my life I wished I could read others' thoughts.

I cursed myself for not staying.


	15. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12 – Places Where Only the Wind Blows II**

It is 1966. And I'm waiting to make a phone call. The three booths in the bar I'm taking refuge from the cold in are taken, their inhabitants yakking it up. "Yakking," now there's a word my father would hate to hear me use. But there they are, two men and a woman, the men in sharp businesswear, the woman in a long and sturdy-looking red dress.

I reach into my coat pocket and pull out my pocket-watch, it's only 13 minutes to 5 PM. I need to talk to Rosalind before my interview. I'm about to put the watch back when I decide to keep it in hand, and fidget with it.

Jesus, what are these people even talking about? It's hard to pull the threads apart, but they're just droning on and on and on about their daily mundane inanities, and I've got a meeting with a bigshot government worker because somehow someone learned that I've won three language awards at Fordham, and I still need to call my girlfriend because I haven't seen her since last Saturday and after what we did a few weeks ago I'm not sure she wants to stay with me which is stupid because what we did sort of means you want to stay with the other because you love them even if we're not married and holy Christ what if I've fucked up everything and what if I make an ass of myself with this guy I have no idea what I'm going to do after graduating and why would Rosalind want a guy who can't give her anything and _why do they_ _keep talking_?

Stop. Breathe. In. Out.

I can kind of hear the radio back at the bar, I think it's talking about the upcoming baseball season. When the door opens you can hear the cars and their horns out on the street. Only 9 minutes.

Finally, thankfully, the man at the far end bids farewell to his interlocutor, and hangs up the phone. As I rush by him he gives me a dirty look which I don't even notice. I fumble with the receiver for a second before placing it by my ear, and taking out some coins I plug them in and ask the operator for the McClennan family of 2 Briggs Avenue.

Breathe. In. Out.

A young voice answers the phone. Rosalind's sister.

"Hello, Rosie!" I make my voice as calm as I can. She nearly squeals when she realizes it's me. Before she can start asking me why I haven't called in a while or telling me all about her day at Cardinal Hayes, I ask her for her sister. She sulks adorably for a second before yelling for Rosalind.

"Hello?" It's Rosalind's voice. God how I love hearing it. I can picture her in my mind – a small, somewhat upturned nose, the way she closes her eyes when she laughs, the sound of her voice when she reads the poems I write for her, the smell of her hair when we went on the picnic to Central Park – they all jumble together in my mind.

"Ros! It's Chuck," I say, trying to keep my voice down.

I strain my ear at the receiver, waiting for a response. But it's silent. Breathe in, breathe out. "Ros?" I said, a little louder.

"Yes, hi, hi Chuck," she responds, as if she hadn't recognized me at first.

"Ros, I can't talk long, but I'd really like to see you soon, maybe we can have dinner next Tuesday? Or-"

"Chuck," she interrupts, very quietly, "I know why you called. Yes, I had my period."

The words sink in. I let out a huge sigh of relief. "Ok," I say.

"We should talk though, so call me when you have more time."

I check my watch. 4 minutes left. "Right! Right. Ok, I will call you soon Ros." I try to end off well, but fail. "Bye," I say, limply.

"Bye," she says before hanging up.

I put the receiver back, and head out to the tables. And there near the back is the man I was told to meet, one Mr. Dominic Fyfe. He notices me and waves me over. He's about twice my age, with hair combed back, dissecting eyes, and a mouth that looks like it had all the fullness sucked out. But what stands out most is the long scar running from below his right ear, down following his jawline, and finally tapering off over his chin. As I come near he stands up and sticks out his hand. I take it and give it as good a squeeze as I can.

"Mr. Tallmann, it's a pleasure to meet you," he says, with a voice heavy but friendly in tone. He sits, and I sit as well. He's got a thin manila folder on the table in front of him.

"Thank you, Mr. Fyfe sir. It's my pleasure as well," I say. I'm trying not to glance at the folder.

He smiles, making the scar on his face squirm, "Now, I heard about you from a professor of yours, Fr. McGraw, and how is he?"

I nod. "He's well, he's currently teaching a seminar on St. Augustine's philosophy of language. We're reading _On Lying_ right now. He's a very engaging lecturer."

He nods his head, like he's remembering something. "Of that I'm sure." He flags down a waiter, and asks for a scotch. He turns back to me. "Now, Fr. McGraw told me you've got a good head on your shoulders. Says here," he says, placing his finger on the folder, "you graduated high school in three years. Why'd you do that?"

I lick my lips. "Ah. Well. I, uhm, sir, I sort of... was bored with the material, I'd say."

He raises an eyebrow and takes a sip of his drink. "Bored?"

"It was all too easy," I say, "I wanted to really try myself, see how far I could go."

"So Fordham?" The radio is playing a song by the Beatles. I can't say I'm a huge fan.

"Well, they liked me enough to give me a scholarship," I reply.

Dominic nods his head again. "You won some awards?"

I shake my head up and down. "Yes sir. I, uhh, I won awards for conversational and composition French and German, and I got a second place with Italian. I'm also skilled in Latin composition, but don't ask me to speak it!" I laugh, a little too forced.

He chuckles. "Don't worry, I don't think anyone's going to need to learn that anymore." He takes another sip, and his face grows harder. "Now, Charles, I asked to meet with you because I think you have the qualities of a fine young man, and I want to ask you something very important. Will you answer me truthfully? Holding nothing back?"

I agree. "Good," Dominic says. "Do you love your country?" he asks me, looking straight through me. I'm a little struck at how sudden the question comes, like it was near bursting inside his mouth. Do I love the United States? Well, it's my home, isn't it? My father might never get over his aristocratic disdain, but I was born here, raised here, Baltimore is in my blood and New York is like something from my dreams of what Munich was to my father.

"Of course I do," I say quickly. He smiles, like I said the line exactly right.

"And would you be willing to serve her, even in the utmost secrecy?"

My breath catches in my throat. I think I know what government agency he works for. "Yes," I say, without really thinking.

"Good," he speaks, "because I want to offer you the opportunity to fight for your country, in a way that no one else," he gestures to the people around us, "will ever really know. To do battle in the noblest of ways against those who seek nothing less than the destruction of our way of life. You willing to hear more?"

And for a moment it feels like time stops. I sit there, and I have no idea what the future will hold. But as I think about it, what is there for me, really? To be like my father, living off the reduced patrimony of his forefathers, lamenting the fact he didn't die sooner? To do some bit academic work, publish some papers, teach some students, and die in mediocre solitude?

Or this? I would never get another opportunity like this again. Maybe with this I won't feel so anxious, I can be more confident with Rosalind.

I nod my head to Dominic, "Tell me."

* * *

><p><em>August 5, 2000<br>T-minus 39 days_

I had always enjoyed time in Bavaria. The great forests, the rolling foothills of the Alps, they had been a good background for a family trip back in 1983. I remembered that as being a good trip, for all of us.

As I drove down into the rural landscape, I thought about a lot of things. I hoped Elena was safe, back in Gehirn. I wondered about her story, how she had ended up here with me. I wondered what Yomi would have thought of her. She had always liked meeting new people, even if those two women were very different in temperament. I wondered how this might all end.

It had been among these towns and lakes that Maria Span had been born in 1921 to mixed Jewish-Christian parents. By all accounts a fiercely intelligent scholar, she spent the war years in Spain, compiling research for her habilitationschrift, an account on Andalusian translations of Greek texts on physics into Latin in the 12th Century. Most of the second half of the century she spent teaching quietly on Greek Classics at the University of Ingolstadt, setting the example of solid historical writing for two generations. Never married, she now spent her time in quiet, secluded retirement out in the countryside.

But I knew that in 1947 she had spent a summer on the edge of the Dead Sea. And I needed to know what had happened, what had been found.

Her modest piece of land reminded me of Kaji's home, secluded from view on the road by woods. I parked my car, a nondescript black sedan, down a minor road off the side of the property. No need to advertise that the doctor had a caller. As I walked back toward the front gate, I listened to the sound of my footsteps on the loose gravel. In another field I heard the lowing of a cow.

It was around five in the evening when I arrived, the sun still hung brightly over the western horizon, and I hoped I wouldn't be interrupting anything. I knew she was there, but not her schedule. The house was a solid design, mid-19th Century, without much external decoration. The lawn out front was well-maintained, with a freshly-painted gazebo occupying a space to the left of the entrance path.

As I walked up the small steps to the front door, I steeled myself. I had no intention of using force against an old woman, but I needed to learn what she knew. I prayed it would be easy.

The old bronze door-knocker produced flat snaps as I rapped it. I waited for a response. I heard a voice yell something inside, and pulled back from the door a step. The door flung open inside, and I was faced with Dr. Span. From the pictures I had seen, she had been far more than homely back in her youth, but time had caught up to her. Her hair had taken the form of a cloudy triangle leaving a high forehead, and the skin below her eyes drooped ponderously. She stood much shorter than I did, and had to crane her head to look at me.

"Who are you?" she asked, with not a small amount of disdain in her voice. I put on a self-assured smile.

"Hi, Dr. Span? My name is Mattathias Lukacs, I'm a reporter for the _Budapest Recorder_, I was wondering if I could speak wi-" Span cut me off by beginning to slam the door shut, but I stopped it by jamming my foot in. It hurt, but I ignored that.

Span opened the door again, still unimpressed with me. "You know, back in my day men used to know when they were unwanted, and reporters had the courtesy to leave an old woman alone."

"Well, I must admit to a small deficiency of courtesy, but I'd very much like to ask you some questions about your work," I replied. Span scanned her eyes up and down me. Eventually, she shrugged her shoulders.

"Fine," she said, turning around and walking down the hallway. I followed in after her, closing the door behind me. She led me to a small salon area, tastefully filled with antiquarian objects. The house was very quiet. Was she here all by herself?

She waved towards a seat as she slowly bent her legs to sit in a couch. With a small grunt she fell back into the cushions. I pulled out a pen and pad to take some notes.

"Where did you say you were from before?" she asked, her eyes squinting at me.

"Budapest," I said.

She frowned. "Your German's good for a Hungarian." She sighed, "Alright let's get this over with. What do you want to know?"

I swallowed. "Well, I was hoping to talk to you about the Dead Sea Scrolls."

For the slightest of instants I thought I saw something flash across Span's face, but it was too quick for me to really know if I saw it or if I just imagined it.

She laughed. "I think you came to the wrong person. I had nothing to do with the Scrolls, either finding them or looking at them. You should've talked with Dr. Maurice Villadieu at Toulouse, he was more involved. Hell, he found the rule for the community at Qumran," she paused, "well, a Bedouin found it, and Maurice bought it, but you know what I mean."

I jotted down a few notes. "But you were in the area in 1947, no?"

Span rubbed her eyes. "Yes, but it was pretty worthless."

"Because you didn't find what you were looking for?"

She sighed. "Look, you probably don't understand. Back in '47, the Scrolls were _huge_. Here we had a glimpse at the religious life of the Jews that lived around Jesus, and how they saw themselves. It was the biggest find of the century. So yes, we were hoping to find some. But we didn't."

Keep her talking, I thought to myself. "Then how about you tell me about that season?"

"'47?" she asked, "It was pretty terrible. Probably the worst dig season I had, even absent of the fact we didn't find any new scrolls. The British authorities actively worked against us, we didn't have any cooperation from the locals, and the only site we actually _found_ I think got paved over by the Jordanian army a year or two later."

"Which was?"

"Well, if you'd read the paper I pushed out after that fiasco you'd know. I think it was some post-Hadrianic resort villa, but we'll never know now!" she laughed bitterly at that.

"And the environment?" I offered.

"Young man, do you have any idea how hot it gets around the Dead Sea in the middle of summer? I think I lost 3 kilos in a week, just from sweating." She crossed her arms. "Look, I don't have what you're looking for, sorry. I can give you the names of researchers more intimately involved with the scrolls, but I can't help you more than that."

I remained silent for a second. "Did you hear me?" Span asked.

"Yes, I heard you," I replied. "But I think you can help me." I leaned forward in the seat. "I know you worked with Conrad Lorenz. Now I have been investigating a certain group that's headed by a Chairman Lorenz, and the Dead Sea Scrolls are very important to them. Maybe you could tell me why?"

I watched Span's reaction. She was very still, and I couldn't see any betrayal from hand motions or involuntary movements. But she sat there, searching me just as much as I was her.

"Conrad died over 50 years ago," the words started slowly, but then began to tumble out of her, rolling and gathering speed, "and even if he hadn't, he'd be dead by now. So I don't know why the Hell you're talking to me, and I'm kindly asking you to get the Hell out of my house before I call the police on you." Putting her hands on the couch she started to push herself up.

"They found Adam," I said, shooting for the moon. Span stopped. She sat back down, her chin on her chest. She stayed that way for at least two minutes. I was about to say something when she spoke up.

"Is that true?" she said, quietly, before turning to look at me. I thought I saw some tears in her eyes. "Is that true?"

I nodded my head, "In Antarctica, a few years ago. They've set up a research camp around it."

I let her process the information. She put her hands in front of her face and moaned. "Oh God, oh God," she said to herself.

But after a minute, she turned her head to me, and it was as if she saw me for the first time. "You're not a journalist, and you don't work for them, do you?"

I resisted the urge to clench my fists. "For Seele? No. They've been trying to kill me."

She shuddered, "They're still around, are they?"

I nodded, "Yes, and they've got men in a lot of important places."

She took a deep breath, "What do you know about the actual Dead Sea Scrolls?"

"What's public knowledge. Biblical texts, the like."

Span rubbed her face. "I'm going to tell you the story from the beginning, and tell you what I know. But I want you to know that by doing so I am signing my own death warrant."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I kept quiet. Span sank back into her seat, and her gaze became unfocused.

"I met Conrad in Lucerne in the weeks following the end of the war. For everyone, it was a happy time, especially for the Germans who had escaped the Reich. We were so anxious and excited, we wanted to make sure our families and friends were alright, and I'm sure some of us thought life could go back to how it was under Weimar. That didn't happen.

"But it was at those parties I met Conrad. I had heard stories about him, you couldn't do classics without hearing the name, he was fairly incredible from his reputation alone. They said he had fought in the Great War as a young man, run guns to Bolsheviks, nearly been killed by the SA, all sorts of romantic stuff - the man who hated the Bible, but who spent his energy on studying it, and writing the most exciting books about Jewish and Renaissance hermetic mysticism. So I was very excited to meet him.

"He was a tall man, that I remember first. He carried himself the way you'd imagine the Periclean statues of Apollo would, with a complete self-assurance of nobility. We talked, mostly about Herodotus that evening. He had some very intriguing theories as to the relation between the _Histories_ and the redaction of Isaiah."

She stopped. I could see her throat work as she swallowed.

"We began an affair. He was interested in me, of all people, and how else would a young woman react to the attentions of a man like Conrad? He never spoke without reason, and when he did it was like the voice of ages, speaking directly to you. I practically melted under him.

"He got me started doing private lectures on the Greek classics, in a Nietzschean fashion – all pagan virtues overturning stale Christian slave morality. We worked together, published an anonymous manifesto calling for a reorganization of Europe beyond mere capitalism and socialism, calling the great men to take the opportunities the war had provided to seize what they would, without thought of history. Remarkably tone-deaf, and when I look back on it I can only realize that's what Hitler had done, Stalin was doing then. But Conrad said I was brilliant, a mind unlike any other he had come across, and I believed him.

"When the first of the scrolls were publicly announced, Conrad was ecstatic. He got together a small group of academics, most taken from his little secret society." Span looked at me.

"Seele?" I asked.

She smiled, "Oh yes. I don't know why he had made it, but he had started this group, and collected men who honestly believed him when he told them it was an ancient secret society, with a lineage going back not only centuries, but millenia. He had nothing but contempt for them for believing him. But it was a few of those flunkies who accompanied us to Palestine. Or Israel. I really don't care how you call it."

"But you foun-"

Span cut me off, "Let me keep going, young man. You'll hear what I have to say, or you can go to Hell. What I told you was the truth. The group didn't find anything beyond the few ruins of a Roman mansion. But what I didn't say was that I found something."

I sat on the edge of the seat, straining towards Span.

She continued, "I was reading a copy of Josephus' T_he Jewish War_, in the Greek, of course, and taking a day for myself. I left the camp by myself in the early afternoon, precisely the time you wouldn't want to, but I was getting stir-crazy in the camp. I didn't speak a word of Arabic, which made my interactions with the locals somewhat problematic. A lot of pointing and shouting in English. Anyway, the others knew I was going, and so I decided to strike south, towards the Sea itself. Have you ever read Josephus?"

I shook my head no.

"You ought to," she replied, "and there's no better place to do so than ancient Judea. He has some moments where he's almost poetic in describing his homeland. I'm sorry, I'm letting myself get away. I was maybe 2 miles from camp, and walking near the shore of the sea, thinking about Josephus. When the air was clear, you could just make out the fortress of Masada, and so it was on my mind. But as I was making my way down a tiny valley in one cliff amongst the thousand around me, I hit my foot against something sharp.

"At first I thought it was some metal, but when I bent down to look around the rocks I found a slim triangle poking out of the ground. With some effort I pulled it out, thinking it was some miraculously preserved ancient glass, but it was something completely different.

"It was a square, about 20 cm a side, almost colorless, and yet I was unable to see through the material. And the most amazing thing happened as I held it. Slowly, symbols appeared on the surface of the thing, small, but uniform, and in no script I had ever seen before. When the surface was covered in these symbols, I felt like I was touched by a live electrical wire. I didn't drop it, though. And to my astonishment, the text changed. The square was now covered in Greek text. It happened so quickly I thought that maybe I had just mistaken it before, but I was sure that it had changed.

"To say I flew back to camp would be an understatement. Conrad and I went away secretly to our tents and I showed him my find. He was as amazed as I was. But we were both awestruck when I handed it to him, and when he touched it the text changed again, this time into Hebrew. At that moment we realized we weren't dealing with some hoax, but with something incredibly new.

"We were almost unable to keep going, but I turned it back to Greek, and we first copied the text down. When we read it... I still don't understand what it was saying."

"What did it say?" I asked.

"It said, it said that it was a warning. It said that there were two progenitors, one of the white moon, one of the black. That the children of the black had the seed of wisdom, and the white the seed of power. There was something about controls, or stasis for a progenitor. I think the white moon one. It spoke about them further, but I don't remember exactly what." Span licked her lips. "It said that any one who might combine the two seeds would have power over creation. I... I can't remember what else there was."

Span stopped to regain her composure. "Do you believe in moments of grace?" she asked me. I nodded. "This was the opposite. I don't know, what it was, but Conrad began to grow obsessed with what we were calling our Icon. When we talked about it, trying to figure it out, he would shut me down without any explanation. He would only let me see it reluctantly, he spent more of his time deciphering its Hebrew version, he muttered about Adam and Lillith. When I mentioned maybe publicizing it he grew violent, and smashed a chair. I remember that. He had changed. And I was scared of him. We left at the end of the season, and he refused to answer my questions about what he was planning to do with the Icon.

"We had more arguments, about who was to keep the Icon, until one day he declared it was his and his alone. I couldn't do much to gainsay him. We stopped seeing each other, and he disappeared with the Icon. I came back to Ingolstadt, and 1948 came around. That's when I heard that Conrad had died in an accident." She shook her head. "But it wasn't true. It wasn't true. I saw him, one last time. I met him in the dead of night in an alleyway in Munich. And he told me that if I ever told anyone about the Scrolls, he said Scrolls, not the Icon, I was going to die."

Span took a long breath and looked at me. "Do you know what it's like to live your life in fear? To feel like a coward from when you wake up to when you sleep? That's how I've felt for decades now." She closed her eyes. "I'm sick of it," she said.

"Thank you," I told her, truthfully. She smiled.

"No, thank you for showing yourself. It's not right to live afraid. I'm an old woman, I shouldn't be afraid of meeting my Maker because some evil man decides to off me." Span looked at me. "I don't remember anything more specific than that. I can only hope I've helped you."

I smiled back, "You have, Dr. Span."

"I don't know if he's still alive, Conrad," she said, "But if he is, and he's the kind of man to find a way to keep going long after he should have stopped, then he's most likely your chairman. I can't imagine him giving up any power after attaining it."

"It sounds like you got away from his thinking."

Span wiped at her eyes. "It took a long time. I hated other people, hated myself. But my mother used to tell me that God writes straight with crooked lines. It took years for me to think that could mean me."

A nice thought. And somewhere deep in my heart I wondered if the same might be true of me, until I lost the image in the memory of my transgressions.

I nodded. I checked my watch – a decent amount of time had passed.

"You're welcome to stay for dinner," Span said. I shook my head.

"Thank you for the offer, but I need to get moving, and make sure no one suspects you of having an unwanted visitor," I said as I stood up.

Span pushed herself up. She took my hand in both of hers. "Godspeed, young man," she whispered. Letting go, she let me out of her home.

The drive back to my motel room was quiet. I had a clean cell phone to call Elena with, but I wasn't sure how exactly she wanted that to happen. But I thought that the information Span had given me was important enough. It told me again that whatever Adam was, it was dangerous, and that Seele were not the men to be holding it. I tried calling her on the road, but I got nothing. My heart leapt into my throat.

So it was that late in the evening, after a few hours of driving, I ended up at the motel, a one-floor roadside place. Completely forgettable. In the room, with its badly framed reproduction art, and an air conditioning unit that refused to work, I tried her again. It rang for a few times, and I expected it to not go anywhere. Until it picked up.

"Charles?" I heard Elena's voice.

"Elena," I started, "Span confirmed my thinking, Adam is dangerous, so dangerous that she found some kind of alien warning about it-"

"Wait, wait, stop," she cut in, "how would she know it was-"

"Because the damn thing changed what language it was written in when she touched it," I said.

"What kind of warning?" Elena asked.

"Apparently that massive lance is some kind of control or breaker for Adam. It's meant to be there to stop it from turning on," I said quietly, even though I knew there was no one in the rooms around me.

Silence for a moment. "Oh God," Elena said. My body shook at that.

"What, Elena, what is it?"

"I- I've been making some quiet inquiries into Antarctica, what's happening down there, like I said, and that contact experiment we read about?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"They're planning on removing the lance," she said.

I started shaking. "When are they planning on that?" I asked.

"It was scheduled for September 1st, but it's been pushed back to September 13."

I slapped my face a few times to get some control. "Ok, we need to move fast. I-"

"Wait," Elena said. I was quiet. I strained my ear at the phone, trying to hear something. Then I heard something in the background, something shatter.

"Elena?" I asked. But I heard the phone drop to the ground. I heard shouting, a male voice scream, and Elena yelling. More things breaking, shattering.

And then the line went dead.


	16. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 – As the Gentle Rain from Heaven**

A long time ago I had a dream.

I'm in some wood, ancient, undefiled, and silent. Something like the Black Forest of my father's fathers. Massive trees stand around me, their canopies looming overhead. I don't know where I'm going, or where I came from. But I know I'm lost.

I begin walking, trying to place the direction of the sun, but it's obscured, with only faint shafts of light passing through to the floor of the forest. The only sound I hear is my own breathing, and my steps as they press on uncounted years of dead leaves & undergrowth. On some level I know I should hear more, I should hear the songs of birds, or chittering insects, the sounds of other life, but there is nothing.

Only the feeling that just beyond my vision something is watching me.

I make my way over hills and through rivers, not knowing where I'm heading to. Though I cannot see the sun itself, I can tell it's beginning to set, as the golden shafts disappear, and a darker shade of color takes over my sight. I'm going to be lost over night.

I try to make some kind of camp, laying my jacket down as a cover. Light leaves the world quicker than I expected, and soon I'm sitting in the dark, my knees up to my chin, and shivering at the sudden cold. I wonder if I can make a fire.

I stumble about, worried that if I turn around I will see something that wasn't there before, and eventually get some sticks and kindling. I take my time, and begin trying to make a fire. I rub my hands raw trying to get enough friction, until I can see even in the darkness that I'm beginning to bleed. But the idea has come to me that without a fire, I will be devoured by the things that lurk around me, though I cannot hear nor see them.

Slowly, so slowly, I gain a spark. But it's small, so small. It only seems to make the darkness loom larger than it had before. I grope for the pile I had made, but I cannot find it, and I know that if I do not act soon, the ember will dissipate, and I will be lost.

I place my finger to the fire, and when it touches the blood staining my hand, the flame leaps like a dancer, and covers my hand. It stings at first, but soon I am inured to the pain. I laugh in joy, and know I will not die that night, that I have held off the hidden terrors.

I do not think that I am being consumed by the flames.

* * *

><p><em>August 15, 2000<br>T-minus 29 days_

When I knew that Elena was taken, I had to stop myself from rushing back to Berlin to find her. There were a thousand places she could have been held, and to go back there would have been to walk into a trap, and so end my life. A life that had now been paid for with at least 4 others. I told myself that Elena wouldn't want me, being the only person who now knew what was happening outside of Seele, to waste my life by giving myself to our enemies.

I told myself this so I didn't feel like a coward when the news said she was found dead two days later. The police sketch was of a man who looked like me.

I wondered what they did to her, if they tried to make her talk. I thought about what she might have said about me, and I wracked my brain, checking off as compromised any asset I had told her about. Which, totaled, weren't so many, but I had to make sure.

After I heard the news I had to stop myself from imagining, from thinking about what I could have done to save her, if I had just gone to Berlin, rather than hide in a secluded Rhine village. I thought up amazing scenes, of gun fights and heroism, and cursed myself for my vain imagination. Things didn't work like that. I didn't go to Berlin, and Elena was dead now.

I hoped they at least killed her quickly.

Every so often I would open my eyes, and fling my hand to Yomi's beads, certain that the man without a name would come and take them from me for eternity this time. But he never showed his face, he never made a sound. A few times I prayed for Elena.

With Elena gone, I tried to think of my remaining options. They were limited. Silvestre had sent me an email saying that the Russians were claiming I was the one who killed the guards at the Perm archives, and that if he ever got his hands on me he would end me himself. So I could count out him helping. But there was one man left. Sir David Rukin, my old friend. I didn't know what he could do, but maybe I could at least get some kind of sanctuary while I put together an effective case against Seele.

So it was that I found myself in the Netherlands, trying to find passage into England. I was finally beginning to run somewhat low on funds, and now I knew there were agencies, legal and intelligence, looking for some of my different identities. If I was going to survive, I had to move beyond the foundations I had laid so long ago.

The docks at Vlissingen were slippery with sea spray, even if it wasn't late enough in the year for the true swells of the North Sea to begin pounding the shore like they were at war. I was walking away from a meeting with some small-time smugglers – they had agreed to take me to another ship in the North Sea, one that would drop me off on English soil. It was going to cost me, but I could cover it.

And so I walked in the evening, letting the wind from the sea whip my face. It felt nice. It was when I stopped near a streetlight, and turned my back to the sea so that I could light a cigarette, that I noticed I was being followed. There were two men, about two hundred feet away from me. They were good, I gave them that, but they were acting too inconspicuous. At three in the morning, you're either a madman or a criminal to skulk about.

I acted as if I didn't notice them, and lit my cigarette. I shifted a little on my feet, making sure the 9mm pistol I now had was in easy reach. I wasn't about to get into a gunfight in the open, but if they tried to take me I was going to give them Hell. They wouldn't take me like they took Elena.

I turned to continue on my way, and noticed the tail move as well. I swallowed hard. I tried to remember where my car was. I had left it some distance away, but I had to get there. I could tell the two behind me were getting closer. I started walking a little faster.

I turned off the main road away from the shore, and further down I could make out my vehicle, an old gray sedan, and I started running for it. I heard my pursuers turn the corner and shout something in German. I pumped my legs as hard as I could, pulling out the keys as I got close. I almost ran into the front of the car, and I threw open the door before I threw myself into the driver's seat. As I pulled the car away from the curb, I noticed one of the men speaking into a phone.

I peeled away from them, and drove further into the city. It was when I passed by one of the canals of the Scheldt that a black car swung out from behind me and started chasing me.

I shoved my foot onto the accelerator, and fell back into my seat. The car I was in was old, but it was solid, and I shot forward. The streetlights passed by faster and faster as we moved deeper into Vlissingen.

I tried to remember the map of the city as the black car drew nearer. I let out a yell when my pursuer struck against the back of my car. I looked in the mirror, and I could see three men in there.

In the distance, I could see the road diverge a little, the center ground being taken up by concrete islands. When we got near, I swerved into the opposite lane, getting some distance from the Seele men. As we came to a break in the islands, the Seele car pulled in behind me, as I moved back to the right side. I looked to my left, and saw the man in the passenger side roll down his window and pull out a pistol.

I let up on the accelerator an inch, and his first few shots hit the road in front of me. Taking a chance, I took the next right down a side street between tall red brick buildings.

But it was only a temporary reprieve, as soon enough I saw their headlights appear behind me, though I had more distance now. I came to the end of the street, and threw the car to the left, heading towards the main docks and shipyards of the city.

The car handled even better than I expected it to. The Seele car, I noticed, made the same turn I had, but it was less agile. Something started forming in the back of my mind.

The two passengers stuck their upper bodies out of the windows, and started firing at my rear. I heard the metallic ringing as the bullets struck the body. If they struck one of my tires, I would be a dead man. I swung the car back and forth between the lanes, trying to keep myself a hard target, but that allowed the Seele car to get closer.

We got closer to the commercial sector around the harbor, the vast maze of small warehouses, shipbuilders, trading companies, and the like. I thought at first I could lose them in that, but I realized that if I made one wrong turn, they would be on me, and I would have no way out. I needed some other way to get rid of them.

The roads got shorter, and to avoid running into a building I slowed down. This worked until two bullets pierced my rear window, leaving great webs of cracks in the material. "Shit shit shit," I said out loud.

We began driving along a small canal of the Scheldt and in the distance I noticed a bridge over it, and something popped into my head. I didn't know if it would work, but I had to try.

I first pulled the pursuers one block away from the canal. We twisted and turned through the featureless prefab buildings and stacks of steel shipping containers. I went through two stacks of containers, and knocked off one of my side mirrors.

We emerged from the maze, and when I was sure I was on the right road, I turned towards the canal and gunned the engine. The Seele men held up just behind me. My breathing grew heavy. This was going to be it.

The road cut across the bridge, but on the other side of the canal it branched as a T. My car bucked when it passed over the metal expansion jaws on the bridge. The Seele car was right behind me. I grit my teeth, and when I hit the second bump, I slammed the emergency brake and turned to the left as hard as I could.

The tires squealed and the world spun, and I prayed I wouldn't end up going into the canal. My eyes were closed, and I heard a great crash. But after a few seconds the world stopped, and I opened my eyes.

The Seele car hadn't made the turn, and so had crashed through the storefront of some small company. On the road I could see the dark trails my tires had left. I took a few breaths, then undid my seatbelt, and staggered out of the car. The black car hissed quietly, its body crumpled and bent, and I thought I could hear a few moans inside. I pulled out my gun, my hands sweaty, and got ready for any surprises. On one hand I knew I should just leave, and quickly, so that I wouldn't be found by anyone else, but another part of me wanted to end these men. They had killed Elena, probably tortured her as well. They had killed Grigory. They had killed Takahiro. I wanted their murder in return.

I stepped through the broken glass and wood, and snapped the gun up when I saw the driver stir. He was engulfed in the air bag, and when I got near, I saw there was blood dripping down across his ear. I reached in through the broken window and put my hand on his neck; he was still alive. I could see the man in the other seat, he looked like he had smashed the side of his head against his window, and he looked out cold as well. Them I could leave for later. I moved to the back, and opened the door, keeping my gun trained on whoever was there.

I was met with the sight of a man, clad in a black suit, laying in the footwell behind the front seats. The gunman there moaned, and I figured he was awake enough. I reached down and picked him up by the collar of his shirt, and dragged him out of the car. I pulled him over the broken glass and broken wood a little distance from the car.

I leaned over him with my gun in hand, and watched his face. It was ugly, with a too-pronounced jaw, a broad and flat nose, and eyes stuck too close together. His eyelids fluttered, and I tapped the gun on his nose. "Wakey, wakey," I said.

The man's eyes opened, unfocused, and it took him a few seconds to notice his predicament. He tried to move until I shoved the gun straight into his face.

"Move, and die," I said, very calmly. I had never felt so calm. This man was going to die, and I was going to kill him. He had murdered my friend, and was trying to kill me. It all made a lot of sense.

"P-please-" the man said in German. I started talking in that language.

"Please what?" I asked.

"Please don't kill me!" he begged. He put his hand next to his head with palms flat open, to show he had nothing. I stood up, keeping the gun trained on him.

"You little fuck," I said.

"Please don't!" He closed his eyes.

"Is that what she said?" I planted my foot on top of his chest.

"W-w-who?"

I flipped the safety on the pistol. "My partner."

"I-I don't kno-"

I couldn't take it. "**YOU KNOW WHO SHE IS!**" I yelled, slamming my heel onto the gunman's solar plexus. He tried to curl up, gasping for breath.

As he coughed, I reached down and grabbed his collar, and dragged him to the nearest wall. I made him hold his hands behind his head as he sat against the wall.

"Please... please," he kept saying quietly.

They had killed her, not me. She knew what she was getting into when she married me. No, no, that's not her.

"Who do you work for?" I asked.

"I-I-I work for the Netherl-"

I hit the man across his jaw with the pistol. A little spray of blood hit the ground, and stained the barrel of the gun.

"Who do you work for?" I asked again, in the same voice as before.

"Seele, I work for Seele," the man croaked.

"Who's your boss?"

"I don't know, I don't know him," he said. I aimed the gun at his head. "I don't know him! I swear! I just know he's got contacts everywhere! He said he knew you!"

I stopped breathing.

"Oh God, please don't kill me," the man whispered. Tears began flowing down his bruising cheeks.

I aimed for between the man's eyes. I'd give him the quick death he'd denied Elena.

"Oh God please no."

I fired twice.

* * *

><p>After the resounds, it was very quiet.<p>

The man sat there, unchanged. But above his head were two bullet-holes in the wall.

He opened his eyes as I turned and ran. I ran back to my car, and as quickly as I could I ran away from the crash.

As I drove away, I couldn't stop myself. I raised my hand to my cheek and found it wet, not from sweat but from tears.

Outside of the city I pulled to the side of the road, laid my head on the wheel and wept. "God, what is wrong with me?" I asked the empty countryside.


	17. Interlude III

**Interlude III**

"Yes, yes. Instrumentality is close, so close. It alone holds the future of Man, unconquered. In a few days, I will hold the power of Adam, and the fate of Man will be decided.

"And yet. And yet. What is this feeling? Like a fossil from an unimaginable past, is this hesitation? And yet, why should I hesitate now, when there is no return? Adam is found, his power will be used! Ah!

"'_What pitiable terror  
><em>_Seizes the superman!'_

"He is dormant, but he will be woken from his slumber, which has lasted beyond ages. He should be known as the Ancient of Days, though he be not our Father. But this moment, this precipice, why should it make me think of my past?

"_'Ach, that the air was so quiet!  
>Ach, that the world was so bright!'<em>

"But that is lost to time, as I know, as I know. They are lost to me, those faces and voices, who did once cause my heart to burn in anguish and joy. But Instrumentality is the salvation of the woe that the human heart is heir to.

"'_Let me suffer in my inmost being  
>Whatever is the destiny of man!<br>Let me seize the deepest and the highest,  
>Heap on my breast man's weal, man's woe,<br>__Include in myself the self of all mankind –  
><em>_And, like it, be obliterated in the end!'_

"We shall be redeemed in our destruction, I know this, and yet still, I feel that spark of hesitation! I stamp it out! My course is set, I have found my place, and from here shall I topple the world, as Archimedes never could! Yes! The time of Man has reached its consummation, and we shall attain the Divine, destroying the difference that was our eternal punishment! I will not waver!

"_'A fiery chariot soars to me: I am ready  
>To push new paths into the ether,<br>To mount to new spheres of pure activity.  
>This exalted life, this godlike rapture!<br>And you, a moment ago a worm –  
>Do you deserve it?<br>Be resolute and turn back  
>Forever, on this earth's gracious sun!<br>Fling open, in your arrogance,  
>The gates that others gladly slink by!<br>Now is the time to prove by deeds,  
>That Man's worth need not yield to the gods;<br>__To face that black pit where the mind  
><em>_Condemns itself to its own torments.  
><em>_Struggle on, now, to that passageway  
><em>_Round whose narrow mouth all Hell is flaming!_

_This last step – take it serenely,  
><em>_Though it should stream out into nothing.'_"


	18. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14 – The End of Man**

"_There neither is nor can be any simple increase of power on Man's side. Each new power won _by_ man is a power _over_ man as well. Each advance leaves him weaker as well as stronger. In every victory, besides being the general who triumphs, he is also the prisoner who follows the triumphal car._" – C.S. Lewis

_August 27, 2000  
><em>_T-minus 17 days_

London was an ugly city, in my view. Attempts at modernizing the skyline had left the city with hulking post-Modernist monstrosities to dominate the eye. As I walked through the city, I tried to remember who had said that we create our buildings, and then our buildings create us. I wondered what effect the builders of these eyesores were seeking.

Getting into England had been somewhat harder than I had expected, and at one point during the trip I had to hide inside a hidden compartment on the ship when they were searched for contraband. It took me a few days to rent a few out of the way hideouts, and reestablish connections with others. And then I needed to get into contact with David.

I had made a few very quiet inquiries among old circles, and I learned that David would be in London for a short time, working on something G8 related. It would probably be the best time for me to get in touch with him. I also learned that Katsuhito Ikari would be giving a talk concerning the future of humanity in a week.

No matter what happened with David, I planned on trying to get some answers from Ikari.

Walking through the streets, I was uncomfortably aware of the vast number of CCTV cameras set up around the city, but I just had to hope that no one person would be able to compile all of them together. I looked up at the building in front of me, tall, concrete, exuding a sense of oppression, and checked the address. Down the street and on the opposite side was my real target, a skyscraper all blue glass and sleek antipathy.

I entered the concrete tumor and, keeping a respectful distance from any of the private security or haggard-looking businessmen in the structure, made my way up the dim and bare staircases to the roof. The last door was locked, so I had to spend a few minutes finagling with a thin knife and the old lock. After some effort, though, the bolt clicked, and I was given a view of the city from 30 stories up. It was mid-afternoon, but a blue-gray pall held over my view.

I checked the roof for the fire escape, and noted its position. It would make sure I left from a different direction than I came in from. I looked at my notes again. I knew David was supposed to be in the other building, and I even knew which room was his office. He'd either gotten sloppy over the years or he didn't mind people knowing that. I pulled out a pair of binoculars and crouched behind the parapet lining the edge of the roof.

I put the binoculars to my eyes, and started scanning the rooms I could see. Nothing too interesting from what I saw, mostly the usual bullshit from the financial men who think they rule the world. I was scanning back and forth until I got a view of the office David was in. It was a little below me, giving me a good angle. There were three men, two I didn't recognize with computers and other files around them, and one more with his back to me. I guessed that was David.

Pulling out another clean phone, I dialed the number I had been told. I waited a few seconds as the call connected, and saw David jump. He hadn't expected a phone call. Getting up forcefully he turned around and grabbed his desk phone. He looked pretty good, not a day over 50, though he was a year or two older than me.

"Who is this? I'm not to be disturbed!" I heard his voice over the line. It took me back a lot of years.

"It's been a while, David," I said, keeping my eyes on him. His face goes from anger, to confusion, and then to surprise.

"Good God, is that you Charles?" he asked. He turned to his assistants (or I assumed them to be that) and started making some hand motions. They began typing furiously at their computers. He put the phone back to his ear. "Charles, where have you _been_? I thought I'd lost you when you disappeared in March!"

"I've been doing some work, but I've needed to keep a low profile about it," I responded.

David put his hand on his forehead. "A low profile? Man alive, do you realize how many people and agencies are trying to find you now? You haven't been doing a very good job in keeping yourself secret, if so!"

"I need your help," I said, "and I'm going to make this quick. If you can help me expose Seele, then help me. If you can't, then hide me. They were the ones who killed Takahiro, and now they're gunning after me."

David was quiet for a second. "How did you learn about Seele?" he asked.

"I followed Takahiro's trail. He left me notes. Listen, I need a yes or no, now."

He scratched the back of his head. "Charles, you need to step away from them, they are dangerous men, and I've been trying to work against them for years now-"

"Then you can help me?"

"I didn't say that, Charles. But these men will kill you without remorse if they get their hands on you, and I don't want to help you throw your life away! Why do you have to keep on this investigation?"

I was silent for a moment. "I know I'm risking my life, David. Trust me. But I can't stop now, not when I can blow this whole thing wide open if I'm just given some time. And if you've been on them so long, then you must know that what they've found in Antarctica is too dangerous to be left secret! Yes. Or. No."

David looked to his assistants and made some more gestures, but they responded with negatives. He opened his mouth and stopped once before he spoke. "I need to know where you are if you want me to help you, Charles."

"Not yet, David. But I'll talk to you again soon. And next time, don't get an office without tinted windows."

At that, David spun around, looking out the window, trying to find me. But I had already gotten out of sight. I turned off the phone and took out the SIM card before snapping it in half and throwing the thin plastic over the edge of the roof.

I understood the impulse, but I didn't like how David had tried to trace my call. Especially after what the gunman had said in Vlissingen. As I climbed down the fire escape I felt my gut tense up. What if I couldn't trust David, if he was in league with Seele?

Then I would be truly alone.

* * *

><p><em>September 3, 2000<br>__T-minus 10 days_

Dr. Katsuhito Ikari was one of the premier theoretical physicists in the world, holder of a prestigious chair at Cambridge, and an outspoken advocate for science and scientific thought.

That was how we was being billed before his talk, which was to be before almost a thousand people, in a large theater in London. As I looked around the audience, I noticed one or two security men, a far smaller number than I had expected for Ikari.

I hadn't done too much to disguise myself, hoping that the size of the crowd would lessen the amount of time security could spend scrutinizing each individual, and that the short beard I had would obscure enough of my face that I didn't look exactly like what Seele would be looking for.

I seated myself near the back of the audience, with the exits near at hand. As the time grew nearer for the talk, I listened to the people around me. They ranged in many respects, Young Turks angry with the "anti-science" attitude of Postmodern Thought or Religion (when they spoke you could hear the capital letters), old Labour hands sick of the turn into racial political their party had taken over the decades, women concerned that without secular checks they would be forced into a lifetime of breeding, and a hundred other points.

Soon enough, it was time for Ikari to speak. A young man came on stage and gave a small summary of his achievements, his accolades and awards, before welcoming Ikari on. He came on stage, needing a cane, but looking fine anyway. He had thinning gray hair, deep wrinkles carved on his forehead and around his eyes, and was dressed conservatively. He waved as the audience applauded. After a few moments of taking in their approval, Ikari quieted them down. He cleared his throat as he stood behind the wooden podium.

"Thank you all," he began, his voice genial and easy to listen to, "thank you for your warm welcome, and thank you for coming to listen to an old man prattle on about a topic very close to his heart." He smiled at that. "It is good to see so many young people out there this evening, I have to say. It bolsters my faith that it will be the next generations that correct the mistakes of my own.

"But before I get off track, I should lay out what I'm going to be speaking about this evening." He paused for effect.

"The future of Humanity. It may seem like something too nebulous to grasp, but I assure you that _even now_ men and women are hard at work creating that future, and I want to speak to you about why it is so important that we talk about it.

"We, as a species, are on the cusp of a new age. The technological developments of the past 150 years have propelled us to a height of mastery over nature so complete as to be unimaginable to anyone not living in it. We have the capabilities to enter the deepest ocean trenches, to brave the vacuum of space, to replace not only limbs, but entire organs, to communicate across thousands of kilometers in an instant. And not just as miraculous feats, only done once or twice, but replicable and commonplace.

"Our technology has come into contact with every aspect of our lives, and uniformly to the better for the latter. To put it into perspective, the average lifespan of someone born in this nation in 1860 was about 39 years. Today, it is over 76. Entirely thanks to advances in medical knowledge and practice. Think about it. An entire extra lifetime, due to the progress of science.

"And the progress has not ended. Prosthetics and other medical devices grow more and more sophisticated every day, allowing us to bring sight to the blind, or hearing to the deaf. There are surgeries and therapies for those with gender dysphoria, drugs to calm the minds of men who once were thought to have been possessed by demons, techniques to separate the act of sex from simple animal procreation. Every day, we learn more about the nature of our universe, its origins, and the laws governing everything from the smallest quark to the most gigantic galaxy. Our computers are so advanced, they can now defeat the greatest human thinkers in some of those last cherished holdouts, such as chess.

"As we enter further into the digital age, it behooves us to lay out a plan of thought, a little in the short term, a little in the long, to help guide us as we make further advances in the coming years. I wish to attempt such a goal tonight.

"When we look into the future, what kind of world do we want to leave for our children? I assume, as good people, we want to leave them peace, prosperity, and freedom, rather than war, and want, and slavery. We want them to be able to make the choices they want, to lead the kind of lives they want, with as few constrictions as possible.

"There are some who say that it is only by looking backward, by destroying technology and civilization, by returning to some hunter-gathering primitive existence that humanity will survive. Well I say no! It is by looking forward, by looking at new, technologically-mediated forms of existence, that we will find the goals we seek.

"We have the ability to create and shape our lives in way unimaginable to our forefathers. When we look ten, twenty years further, how else will technology shape our lives?

"Imagine a world, where a man or woman can shape their body however they wish, with no long-term ill effects? A world where one can take up or shed a certain morphology as easily as you or I take a jacket? Imagine another person, able to take up in an instant the knowledge of the ages, and then use that to guide their daily life? This is possible! Digital technologies even now are leading to a world of inter-connectivity.

"But what will buttress this world? I know, as all of you do, that unlimited population growth is unsustainable as Malthus pointed out so long ago. With ever-more advanced abilities at family planning, we can ensure that humanity does not outgrow the scarce resources of our planet, that each individual will be ensured that they were wanted.

"Our societies will be more open, with government that answers directly to each citizen. We have seen how ancient prejudices of race and sex evaporated against the clear light of scientific knowledge, how much longer until we see the outdated tribalisms of national pride swept away?

"But how can we achieve such a vision, you may ask? That is what I would like to turn to now.

"First, we must ensure the education of upcoming generations includes sufficient training in not only the rudiments of the physical sciences, but in mathematics as well. If we wish to find the root of such silly superstitious and magical thinking as what belies so-called 'homeopathic remedies,' or leads otherwise reasonable people to deny such facts as Darwinian evolution, we need only look at the decline in the standard of scientific education in our school systems.

"My work in the United Nations has been focused on this matter. If not only Great Britain, but the West itself, is to remain a world leader in scientific breakthroughs, we need to have a citizenry that can achieve those breakthroughs. We need to teach our children the wonders that make up the world around us, the physics that makes beautiful sunsets possible, or the chemistry that creates the best alcohol." The crowd chuckled at the easy joke.

"We, as mature, reasonable members of our species, have a duty to educate. I do, you do, everyone who considers themselves an ally of reason does. For reason seeks not only to learn, but to pass on its knowledge. And if we are to stop the tide of ignorance and folly from overcoming our light, we must all do what we can to ensure the light overcomes the darkness.

"Second, we must lift restrictions on biological research. In this sense I primarily mean the current legal boundaries preventing biologists from conducting experimentation on the human genome. We live in a liberal democracy, one that does not answer to any one particular moral or philosophical codes of conduct. So then why should we place laws against legitimate avenues of inquiry, avenues that could end up saving lives and improving quality of life? We are told by politicians and preachers 'not to play God', but even they don't take that seriously!

"The future of human evolution lies in such research. No longer are we subject to the whims of unreasonable nature, but we can direct our own biological fates. If we are to truly explore the possibilities of the universe, we must not be afraid to put ourselves under the microscope. With advances in neuroscience, we might find the physical triggers for violent behavior, or antisocial activity, and root it out at the source, without having to take recourse to a crowded and inefficient prison system.

"Every day there are children born with irredeemable genetic defects – Down Syndrome, Autism, and the like. Their births mean years of hardship for their parents, and thousands of pounds in medical fees unnecessary for a healthy child. It is within our lifetimes that we can find the cause of such heartache, and make such tragedy history, if only we were not held back.

"And that is my third point – to make way for the Man of the future, we must jettison the traditions of the past. We are adults! Adults with a knowledge of the strength of reason in the face of those too scared to look beyond their dark holes. No more do we need to be coddled with Bronze Age myths of sky gods and sacrifice to explain the world. We have climbed to the top of Mt. Olympus, and there are no gods there!

"Science has given us the answer to the questions the philosophers once gabbled over, and we can see theologians continue to tie themselves into knots with their 'god of the gaps,' but the gaps are closing! How long until there are none left?

"We must be Humanists if we are to embrace what is to come. We must be sure of the inherent worth of a person against all those who would keep us in the chains of dogma and ignorance. We will not be treated as children.

"I do not know what the world will look like in 100 years, let alone 20. But I do know that if dedicated young men and women take charge of their lives in the quest for the greatest good of all living beings, it will be a better day than now.

"Thank you very much," he finished, and took a drink from a glass of water as the audience applauded him.

The next half hour were various questions – human rights, disestablishing the Anglican Church, and other topics. But soon enough it was over, and Ikari was given a long applause. But I had already moved backstage when that happened.

It was like many theaters – a few tight passages and different rooms jutting off. I passed by a few changing rooms until I noticed a guard standing with his back to me. He was plainclothes, which made my job a little easier. Sneaking up on him as the audience clapped, I whipped the butt of my pistol across the back of his skull. The man crumpled, and I dragged him into a nearby storage room, filled with costumes from historical eras.

When I came out and closed the door, I was just in time to see Ikari come by. "Sir, sir," I said, getting his attention.

Ikari turned to me. "What is it?"

"Sir," I said, putting some urgency into my voice, "we've just been notified that there's been a security breach, and your safety's in danger. I'm going to take you to a secondary vehicle to get you out of here."

Ikari narrowed his eyes. "Damn it, when will that bastard tell me things before they happen? Fine, get me out of here."

I conducted Ikari away from his original exit, and got him out a side fire door. In front of us was my car, a small black coupe. But when I opened the door for him, he stopped. "Where are my other bodyguards?" he asked.

"Sir, they may be compromised, if you'll just come with me-"

Ikari moved to hit me in the gut with his cane, but I grabbed and twisted it out of his hands before pulling my gun out on him.

"If you'll just come with me we won't have any problems," I finished. Ikari glowered as I put a zip tie around his wrists and shoved him in the back seat. I added a little insult to injury by throwing his cane into the seat with him. I thought about putting a hood on him, but I didn't have time, I needed to get out of there.

I began driving away, keeping an eye on Ikari in the back seat.

"You won't get away with this," he told me, "my men will find you." I thought I heard a little click, but I could see nothing suspicious.

"They've been trying to find me for a while," I replied.

"Ahh," he held the noise for a few seconds, "so you must be 'Inspector Pelletier,' then?"

I turned onto the nearest freeway and headed north, away from London. "Maybe, maybe not," I answered.

"You look somewhat older than I expected, I have to say. I thought our infiltrator was a young man, flush with energy. I hadn't thought him a wasted wreck."

Was he trying to get me mad? I was almost more offended that he thought I would fall for that than what he actually said. Besides, I knew that already.

Soon enough I pulled off the freeway, into an old, rundown suburb, filled with car body shops and empty stores with metal grilles over their windows. I was going to have my chat with Ikari in privacy. The building I had chosen was one like any of the others around it, concrete and corrugated iron with flickering street lights spaced far between each other.

Dragging Ikari out of the car wasn't too hard, he seemed to understand his position. The building we entered was rotten with the smell of molding plaster and stagnant water. It was a large shack, meant to hold a few cars as they were overhauled, but the floor was empty save for a few broken boxes and a wooden chair in the middle. I sat Ikari down on it and wrapped his legs to it with some more ties. He made a hissing sound as I tightened one. "That hurts," he said.

As I took a position near him, I made sure my pistol was visible to him, bulging my coat below my left armpit.

"You can probably tell what I want to know," I started off.

"If you think I'm going to talk to you, you're even stupider than I thought," Ikari spat out.

I smiled. "Talk or not, I'll be honest – I don't really need you." I rubbed my left shoulder. I wanted him to be absolutely certain who had the reins in this. "I know about Seele, I know the conspiracy you've set up."

He laughed. "Conspiracy? Really? And you think anyone is going to believe you about your imagined 'Seele'?"

"I've got evidence."

"So do the men after the Illuminati! Or how about the Trilateral Commission, which actually exists?" Ikari chuckled some more. "Your 'Seele' is as real as the Elders of Zion."

I grinned, and started pacing around Ikari. "I know about Adam, in Antarctica."

"You're talking nonsense. There's nothing down there!"

I put my hands on the back of the chair and spoke over Ikari. "I know about the scrolls you've been using."

"You're a madman."

In one movement I placed Ikari in a chokehold around his neck, enough to hurt, but not enough to make him unconscious. I placed my mouth next to his ear and spoke very slowly, "I will kill you, Mr. Ikari, if you do not cooperate. I want you to realize that, because I'm not sure you understand your position. If you scream, no one will hear. There is no one here to help you. Now, stop playing games." With that I released him, letting him gasp and choke down a few breaths.

"Are you a member of Seele?" I asked.

Ikari took a few seconds of hard breathing. "Are you a member of Seele?" I repeated, a little sterner. In earlier interrogations, I had learned that it was the first question that was the most important – should your subject give you that, they would eventually give you everything.

Ikari closed his eyes, it looked like he was coming to some kind of decision. Just what I wanted to see. "Yes, yes I am," he said.

"And what is your position?"

"I'm in charge of scientific research," he clipped out.

"You are the main liaison with Gehirn, then?" My footsteps on the concrete floor around Ikari were the only sound besides our breathing.

Ikari studiously kept away from eye contact with me. "Yes," he said. I was happy that things were going so well – I thought I might be done in just the one evening.

"Are you one of the ranking leaders in Seele, then?"

A sullen "Yes."

"And you know the other members, then?" I thought I heard a police siren outside, and I had to stop my head from turning at the noise.

"No."

I stood silent behind Ikari. I tried to figure out the answer – was it a complete fabrication, or merely something to throw me off something he said earlier? I stared at the back of his head for a minute, until I saw him fidget, nervous that I was out of sight.

"You know the other members of Seele?"

"I told you, no!" he barked out.

"Not even Chairman Lorenz?" I asked.

A pause from Ikari. There we go.

"So you know at least one member. Why don't you know the others?"

"They... they conceal their identities."

"Do you?"

I could see Ikari's muscles tense as he grit his teeth. "Yes."

"Why?"

"It's how things have always been done in the organization."

"But you know the Chairman?"

"Kiel flaunts his identity, willfully, seeking to show how he is unafraid of the rest of us."

Kiel! _I had his name now!_ If only for that one piece of information, tonight had been worth the risk. Everything else was just dessert, now. But Ikari didn't need to know that.

"What is Adam?" I asked.

Ikari chuckled darkly at that. "You and everyone else wants to know."

"Try me."

Ikari lifted his head and stared into my eyes. "Adam is a dead god. From him and his consort sprang all that exists on this planet."

"What do you mean?" I asked, a little confused at this turn in Ikari.

"What I said. Seele has seen God die!" Ikari strained at his bounds, and I began to move my hand towards my pistol slowly. "But with his power, we will move beyond these frail shells. Mankind will become what we are meant to be!" Ikari shouted.

At the very end of his statement I heard something meaty slam outside. I looked at Ikari, and he had a smug grin on his face.

Jesus, his men knew where we were.

When I heard a door break down with a crash, I flew behind Ikari, intent to use him as something of a shield. I started pulling Ikari towards the door I had entered in, keeping my gun trained on the two men who entered. They kept their guns on me, but they were hardly professional-looking.

"Don't shoot me, you idiots!" Ikari screamed out.

I smiled. I put my gun to the side of Ikari's head. "One move, he's gone, got it?" I said. The two men froze where they were. "Point the guns towards the ceiling," I continued.

"Don't l-" Ikari tried to say before I put him in another hold, this time knocking him out in a few seconds.

"What did you-" one of the men started before I spoke.

"Just put him to sleep. Don't worry, don't do anything stupid and you'll have him." My heart was pounding, but these guys seemed so much less trained than the men who had been after me. It hit me that the various council members must have their own separate spheres of control, with different focuses for each. I had been more correct in my gamble with Pelletier than I had thought.

I pulled Ikari out towards my car, making sure there was no one waiting there to catch me unaware. No, it seemed that there was only these two clowns. They followed me, keeping their hands up in the air, walking slowly.

When I got to the car, I thought about how I might get out of this. Deciding that the longer I waited the more dangerous of a position I would be in, I chose the first thought that came into my head. Picking up the chair, I threw it, and Ikari, at the closest bodyguard. He and his partner yelled out, one of them even dropping their gun to try and prevent Ikari from cracking his skull on the pavement. At the same time, I threw myself into the driver's seat, gunned the engine, and was gone before they could fire more than three rounds at me.

I laughed like a madman as I escaped, until all the adrenalin drained from my body, leaving me empty. As I drove northeast, towards the place I would wait to contact David at, I suddenly felt very cold. I shivered violently, almost losing my grip on the steering wheel, and chalked it up to escaping another group of armed men.

I could do it again, I thought to myself.


	19. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15 – In the Dark III**

"_A true opium for the people is a belief in nothingness after death – the huge solace of thinking that for our betrayals, greed, cowardice, murder we are not going to be judged._" – Czeslaw Milosz

_September 6, 2000  
>T-minus 7 days<em>

Another isolated village, in the small remaining countryside of Suffolk. You could tell who was a local and who wasn't, and though I was firmly on the "outsider" side of that divide, a few quid in the right hands made sure lips were kept from flapping in unwise ways in the pub, and kept me appraised of any suspicious visitors.

I spent the days trying to come up with a plan of attack. I had enough, more than enough, to begin a full-scale operation assaulting Seele. I had the identities of two of its main members, I knew where their efforts were focused, I knew what they wanted and how far they were willing to go to get it. I just had to get the information to the right people.

Whom to trust? That question kept me up at nights. Those who might have been my first allies were cast in suspicion, and as I sat down at my desk in my small cottage for another morning drink, I realized the nameless man had been right when I saw him in Japan – I really had run out of friends those past few months.

But the thought stayed with me – I couldn't just keep all of this to myself. So I made a copy of my notes, getting the most relevant and pertinent information down into a separate binder. As I wrote and made copies of photographs, I wondered why I was still doing this.

"Because Kaji asked me to," I said aloud.

_'You know that's bullshit,'_ I said in my mind.

"Shut up, you," I said.

Taking the copy, I placed it in an envelope, and addressed it to a certain Swiss bank I had a deposit box at. The information was going to be kept there, unless I or someone else with the account number took it. I made sure it would get there as quickly as possible. But when I was done preparing that, I sat down at my desk and began writing a letter to my daughter.

I ripped apart seven different sheets of paper before I could settle on an opening that didn't sound insipid. I hadn't acted like a real father to her and Pieter for a long time, I couldn't just act like I was still there and they were still young. I stopped halfway through the eighth because I couldn't remember the last time I had spoken to Agnes about anything meaningful. That made me stop for an hour and take a few drinks.

When I came back to the paper, I decided to be as honest as I could. I told her, simply, that I had been investigating a dangerous group after they had killed my friend, the Mr. Kaji she might remember from her youth. I told her that I was in a very tight spot, and that was why this letter was coming from someone she didn't know. I told her that everything I had discovered was in a certain account with a name attached, and that she was to keep that very secret, unless she met someone she could trust absolutely.

I looked at the paper, I had filled up maybe a third of it with my thin handwriting. I thought about Agnes, how she must look like now, having a life of her own. I had missed so much of her and Pieter's growth. I realized I probably wasn't going to see them again.

Without thinking twice, I added at the end that I was a sorry excuse of a father, and that if I died and she and her brother forgot about me they would be perfectly justified. But I still loved them.

When I sent those letters out, I made sure they would be routed and rerouted through a few locations, to make sure even if someone was monitoring Agnes they wouldn't know where it came from first of all.

I didn't know if she would understand. I wasn't sure I did. I had given up everything to try and protect my family, including the family itself.

Where had I gone wrong?

* * *

><p><em>September 10, 2000<br>__T-minus 3 days_

I woke up when I heard the sound of breaking glass, followed by a heavy thump on the wooden floor. In an instant I was out of bed, with my pistol drawn and the safety off. The cottage only had three rooms, and there was no sign of intrusion in the bedroom. I looked towards the closed door to the living room. Should I wait for the bastard here? Or catch him in the other room?

I opened the door, pointing the gun where I expected the intruder to be, but there was no one. Light glittered off the shards of glass on the floor, surrounding a red brick. Picking it up from the ground, I turned it over, and saw a single word written on it in a shaky hand – 'run'.

I let out a quiet curse. I couldn't tell if it was an honest warning or something else. But in the end I felt I had stayed too long in that small village. I needed to get out of there, and if it had taken so little time for Seele to find me here, I needed David's help. I spent a few minutes packing my essentials – notes, weapon, cigarettes, and Yomiko's rosary. Soon enough I was ready to leave.

Before I opened the door, though, I waited at the broken window, looking down the wooded road that led towards the hamlet. Down it lay my car. A light wind moved the branches, and a sigh surrounded me. A small snapping noise got my attention. Was it just an animal, or was it someone waiting for me to come out?

I glanced around, but I didn't see any movement. I could see my car from the cottage. Moving quickly, I threw myself outside the broken window, rolling when I hit the dust. I came to a kneeling stop, and kept my ears open. Still nothing. Maybe there wasn't anybody here? Fuck, maybe it had just been a prank from a dumb kid. But even if it had been, I still needed to get out.

I got to my feet and walked towards the car, glancing left and right into the trees. I didn't hear the first gun shot, but I felt it fly past my ear. Without thinking, I started running to the car, only 100 feet away or so. More shots followed me, and I saw puffs of dirt from the impacts. I was close to the car, but every second I expected to feel the flat impact in my back.

I pumped my arms and legs, not daring to look behind me, knowing that if I slacked for an instant I'd be dead. When I got to the car, I smashed open the window with my pistol, then fired two shots back the way I had run. I still couldn't make out who was firing at me – all I saw were trees. No time to look, I reached through the window and opened the door, got in, and kicked the gas petal to the floor. As the engine fired up and I put the car into reverse, I saw four shapes moving in the woods. A few more shots pierced the windshield, and I ducked close to the steering wheel in response.

As the car flew backwards, I checked the rear-view mirror to make sure I didn't drive off into a ditch as I fled the ambush. My blood pounded in my ears and I struggled to breathe evenly. Once I got to another road, I swung the car around and headed in a random direction. Jesus that had been close. If I had waited even a few minutes more I'd have been dead.

As I left the hamlet behind me, I reached inside my trenchcoat and pulled out a phone, dialing in a number I knew would be answered. I held it to my ear and tried to calm my nerves a fraction.

The phone rang a few seconds as I weaved through the winding country roads, the only light besides the moon and stars the cone coming from my headlamps. The phone continued to ring. "Goddamnit, pick up," I said out loud.

When the man I called finally answered, I wasted no time on pleasantries. "David, get me to a safe-house, now!"

There was a stunned silence on the other end. "Charles, how are you-?" David asked.

"I just got out of an ambush, David! Jesus, the bastards knew exactly where I was," I said as I wiped the cold sweat from my face. "Dave, I need your help," I said, a little weaker, "I got nobody left, and I don't even think I could get back to the States now. I need some place to hide. Please."

I thought I could hear something going on in the background on David's end of the call, but I couldn't make out what it might be.

"Alright," David said, his voice level and calm, "there's a small warehouse district northeast of Chelmsford. It's hard to miss if you're coming from the north. When you get there, look for the one labeled 'Third Man Distribution & Logistics'." He paused for a second, and I heard a loud laugh over the line. "There will be a keypad lock, the code is 0427. Someone will meet you there." I was about to ask for a clarification when the line went dead. At least it was something.

As I drove south I kept a paranoid watch on the road behind me. Sticking to back routes and smaller roads, I figured I had gotten away from anyone who was trying to follow me. After an hour of heightened tension, I let out a deep sigh of relief. Another brush with death, another success. I had to make sure not to get cocky.

Chelmsford wasn't too far, and it wasn't beyond 11 at night when I found the warehouses that David had described. It was just off the motorway, easy to spot. I thought it typical of David to have a safe-house in an area like this. He liked how quiet they could be at night. I smiled at the thought. Kaji had preferred places in the middle of town. I shook my head, trying not to get caught up in thoughts of the past.

But quiet the area was. I parked the car in an alley between two buildings and got out. Beyond the quiet hum of cars passing on the motorway and the sound of my feet on concrete and gravel, there was nothing. To reassure myself, I checked the ammunition in the pistol magazine – 10 shots. And that was all I had. I didn't feel very assured after seeing that.

I looked among the buildings until I noticed a small sign in the corner of my eyes. Sure enough there was the name David had given me. I felt my stomach unknot itself somewhat at the sight. I was going to make it through all this. I had gotten through the Russians, I would get through Seele. Wandering around the building, I only saw the one door, with its keypad lock. Stealing to it, I put in the numbers, and was rewarded with the door clicking open.

Inside the building was dark, almost too dark to see anything. But after I closed the door I let my eyes adjust to it. The building was filled with boxes, of different shapes and sizes. I ran my hand thoughtlessly along one and was met with a splinter in the flesh between my first and middle fingers. I cursed quietly, but in that place even the most quiet word seemed too loud.

"Hello?" I called out. But there was nothing in response. I figured I must have been early to the meeting. I wondered who David would send – would I be able to tell them from a Seele agent? My hands grasped Yomi's beads without my thinking, and I started mumbling half-forgotten phrases. A metal chair lay in a small clearing, and I nearly walked into it without noticing it.

Ten minutes passed, and still nothing. I realized I was being somewhat impatient, but I still felt worried. I spent my time looking around the building, between the stacks of wood, looking for something, anything.

Twenty minutes after that, I was ready to try calling David again, but I knew that wouldn't fly over well at all. He had been surprised that I had even gotten access to his personal number, but he should have taken my warning seriously – he had gotten a little sloppy since I had seen him work last.

Soon enough, I couldn't wait any longer. I couldn't stay there without worrying I was going to be ambushed. At the door, I gripped the handle, and opened it a fraction. Placing my eye to the slit, I looked out. For a few seconds I slowly checked the angle I could see, facing another alley between two buildings. I was about to get up when I noticed something small. On the ground, I noticed three shadows.

My body froze up. David hadn't mentioned more than one contact. These were Seele men, and they must have followed me. I was cornered. I clicked the door back closed, and began frantically searching for another way out of the building. There had to be something. I knew there had to be. I couldn't die here. I wouldn't let it happen.

But there was nothing. And as the thought seeped into my bones I realized that they hadn't followed me. They had been told I would be here. David had told them. He had known I would be north of Chelmsford. He hadn't expected me call because he thought I would have been dead by then. He never wanted to help me in the first place.

Oh Christ, David had betrayed me.

I couldn't handle it. My body started shaking. I found my way to the metal chair, and fell onto it. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream.

I had failed them. I had failed Grigory, I had failed Elena, I had failed Takahiro. And now I was going to die.

I wondered what had gone through Kaji's mind before he had died?

My shaking hand picked out one of my last cigarettes, and as I breathed in the smoke I took Yomi's beads and brought the little crucifix to my face. I remembered what she had always done, and I kissed the small silver figure, before failing to remember the mysteries. I had known, long ago. How had I forgotten them?

Yes, I was going to die.

The only question now was how.

* * *

><p>Charles was quietly whispering when he heard the door to the warehouse open. He stopped, and looped his wife's beads around his left hand. He felt the pistol hanging in his holster, but something told him not to take it out yet.<p>

Footsteps came nearer to him, and between seeing the rays of a flashlight and being blinded by them was a fraction of a second. He waited for the gunshot, but there was nothing. He blinked his eyes, trying to resolve the figure in front of him, maybe 15 feet away.

"I'm sorry Charles, I'm sorry it has to end like this," the man said.

Charles put down the hand covering his face. "David," he said.

"You stupid bastard," David said, and Charles noticed that in his other hand David held a pistol pointed at him. David's voice seethed, boiling with resentment. "You had to pull a goddamn stunt like that with Ikari, didn't you? You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? You couldn't trust me, could you?" He laughed bitterly. "Do you realize how much Ikari bit at me for letting my security breach get to him? The old fogey doesn't get how much effort it takes to keep a secret society secret."

"You sold me out," Charles said, with no emotion in his tone.

"**NO!**" David shot back. "I gave you a _chance_, Charles! I gave you a goddamn chance, just like I did back during the war years! I gave you a chance to bow out!" David kept the gun pointing at Charles, but the light swung around wildly. "But did you listen? No!" More bitter laughing. "You were always so goddamn stubborn. You and Kaji."

Charles was motionless on his seat. "You killed him too, didn't you?"

"Shut up, Charles!" David yelled, his voice catching, "Do you think I wanted to do that? Or do this? You two were my best friends!"

Charles narrowed his eyes. "You're the one with the gun out, Dave."

David was shaking slightly. "What made you betray us, Dave?" Charles asked.

"You don't understand what's happening, Charles!" David said, "You don't get it! I do! Kiel told me what will happen. In just a few days, we'll all be free. Free from hurting each other, free from being hurt."

With that, David fired three shots into Charles' chest.

David saw his head slump, and dropped his flashlight to the ground, where it shattered. He started weeping, and cursing his dead friends.

But Charles was not dead yet. With weakening arms, he slid his right hand to his holster, and as secretly as he could, he took it in his palm. David continued to rant, screaming about Instrumentality, and how he had done it so that people like Charles could be redeemed. But Charles wasn't listening. He had the gun in hand, and he held it flat underneath his trenchcoat.

Charles felt the blood pour out of his chest from each heartbeat, and with every moment his vision grew more and more indistinct. He wasn't going to last long conscious. He couldn't hear anything beyond his labored breathing. He could see David waving his gun around.

David must have noticed something, as he turned to Charles, his eyes wide. "Charles?" he asked.

Charles had his pistol pointed at David, aiming straight between his eyes. "For Hiro," he whispered, and fired once. David's body collapsed like a string-less puppet. Charles dropped his gun as thin tears leaked from his eyes.

A few minutes before midnight on September 10, 2000, Charles Tallmann gave up the ghost.


	20. Interlude IV

**Interlude IV**

_January 25, 2001  
>T-plus 134 days<em>

Kiel was blind now. It had struck him, mere moments before the reports began filing in about the disaster that had struck in Antarctica. Now Kiel was left to fumble in a sea of featureless white, more hateful to him than anything imaginable by Melville.

Not that there was much to see. The world had descended into utter chaos mere hours after contact was lost with the Gehirn team – India and Pakistan had traded nuclear blows, with Tokyo (among other cities) being hit by an un-traced ICBM, tsunamis and rising sea levels had wiped out the coastlines of the world, societies and countries had collapsed into anarchy and primal fear. The confirmed total of the dead was already over two billion, and every day it grew, bringing mankind closer and closer to the brink of annihilation. All because of Antarctica.

Antarctica. According to the preliminary scouting, it didn't exist anymore – an entire continent scoured from the face of the Earth by the wrath of a dead god. Even more than that, anAnti-AT Field unlike anything ever conceived of had engulfed everything within the 78th Parallel. Every living thing, from the largest whale to the smallest bacteria had been uterly obliterated. The only miraculous survivor of the debacle was Katsuragi's young daughter, and she was reluctant to speak of anything, let alone Adam, being still catatonic from shock.

If Kiel only had this, he would be worried about the upcoming meeting of the Seele Council, and fear a coup attempt on him. But he had something up his sleeve. Something even more important than the Scrolls.

Kiel heard the first communication link open. Ikari was early, but he had always been that way. Kiel heard a heavily distorted voice speak.

"So, Chairman, the mystic visions finally failed you, no?"

Kiel interlaced his fingers in front of his chest. "Gloating does not become you, Ikari."

A chuckle, sounding like the tumble of rocks in a landslide. "You have to allow me my small pleasures, Chairman. Your, ahh, 'guards' make it somewhat difficult for me to move about as I used to."

Kiel smirked. "The world is very dangerous these days, and I thought after your brush with danger those few months ago you might appreciate some extra eyes."

There was a noise, but too scrambled to make out what it had been originally. Before Ikari could make another retort, another link opened. Then several more clicked on, and Kiel knew that the entire Seele Council was now brought together for the first time since the previous August. He had spoken to some during the deepest throes of the crisis, setting in motion a new conception of international relations, but now it was time to encourage the flagging, reprove the malcontent, and cement his hold on these men.

"Gentlemen, the 48th plenary meeting of the Seele Council is hereby brought to order," Kiel intoned, "state your presence: Seele 01, present."

The other 10 members stated their presence, with the absence of Seele 11. That damn spy! Kiel thought. Kiel had to admit he had made a mistake there. He had convinced the man about Instrumentality, utterly, and convinced of his loyalty had let him run the intelligence service of Seele as his personal fiefdom. Such an oversight! With Sir Rukin dead (at the hands of some middling bug, even!), Seele was nearly blind. It would take years, if not over a decade, to rebuild the organization! And all the while other powers would be working to make themselves the top dogs in this new environment!

"Where is Seele 11?" 08 asked. Kiel couldn't see who was speaking, but he knew them all, even as they tried to hide from each other.

"11 is dead," Kiel spoke, "he was careless, and so died." Silence reigned as the fact sank in to the assembled councilmen. They had their various plans, but all of them feared such an ignominious end. Some of them had had very close calls in the riots and upheaval following the disaster.

"But 11's demise is not the agenda for today," Kiel continued, "I have brought us together to reevaluate the Council's plan concerning the Progenitor."

"Reevaluate?" 03 spoke scared, "We've failed, Chairman! If the Scrolls are true, Adam has already sent out His children!"

09 took up the thread. "We are still unsure how long we have until they awake to seek their Creator. We have nothing that might stop them."

"Adam is lost to us," Ikari said, "what will His servitors seek?"

The members began speaking amongst themselves, talking over each other, arguing in fits and starts. Kiel let it run for a few minutes.

"Silence," he spoke, and the Council grew quiet. Good, they still listened to him on instinct. "Such fear is unworthy of the Seele Council."

"What do you propose, Chairman? Without Adam, how can we take hold of the power of Instrumentality?" 02 asked.

Kiel couldn't resist smiling. "The Scrolls speak of two Progenitors."

"But the Black Moon is still hidden!" Ikari cried out.

"And Lilith does not possess the unlimited power of the S2 Engine," 05 added.

"Even She would be destroyed by one of the Seraphim!" 03 lamented.

"The Angels, the children of the White Moon, they will be drawn to Her," Kiel said, "should we find her first, we may draw them into a trap. Even the greatest giant may be brought low by the intelligence of dwarfs."

A pause from the Council.

"But how will we defend Lilith?" 08 asked.

Kiel felt along his desk for a button, and pressed it. "This," he said, as an image was transmitted to the other councilmen. Simultaneously the men gasped.

"Is this...?" Ikari trailed off.

"What remains of the flesh of Adam," Kiel answered. "It is small now, but with it we can create our own giants, and so bring low these upstarts who seek to dethrone Man."

Yes, Kiel thought, he would win, in the end. He had made a small miscalculation now, but in time that could be rectified.

The rest of the meeting went quickly, as each member was appraised of his new duties, and a new member was inducted to take Rukin's empty spot on the Council. After 4 hours, Kiel was able to turn off the communicators, and asked that his visitor be brought in.

Kiel listened to the man's footsteps, and turned to face him. Though Kiel could not see him, he knew the man's face.

"Ikari Gendo," Kiel spoke first.

"Chairman Kiel," Gendo responded.

"I know you are in a hurry to see your wife, so I will keep this short," Kiel said, to make sure that Gendo knew who was in command, "your timely order to pack up the metaphysical biology research team at Adam before the test was a stroke of luck. The information you brought back has been of incalculable value."

"Thank you, Chairman," Gendo replied.

"Such foresight is a great virtue, and will be richly rewarded. I asked you here so that I might tell you in person – I plan on assigning you as Director of Gehirn in the next few weeks. You have a keen mind, and are greater at the tasks of administration than in mere research. I have great need of men as yourself."

"Thank you for your confidence, sir."

Kiel laughed, but quickly turned serious. "But I will have you know this, Ikari. I will allow _no_ private interpretations of the Scrolls. Should you or your wife _ever_ seek such an end, know that neither of you are indispensable."

A momentary silence. "Of course, Chairman. We would never try to usurp the Council's prerogatives."

Kiel sat back in his chair. It wasn't a complete oath of loyalty, but it was enough for now. "You are dismissed," he said, and he heard Gendo's feet walk out of the library.

Kiel sat there, in silence and in his blindness, and tried to clear his mind. But in the far distance, he thought he could hear the resounds of titanic footfalls, and a cry that shattered the heart of the world. He could not tell if it was some memory, or a prophecy.

* * *

><p>Outside of Berlin, in the ruins of a burned-out athletic center-turned-command post, a young woman, a refugee, found her brother. With her was a short letter, just a few lines, from what seemed already like another age. Together, they wept – for themselves, their long-dead mother, and for the father who had tried and failed to protect them.<p> 


	21. Finale

**Finale – On the Threshold / In Hora Mortis Nostrae**

"_And what you thought you came for  
><em>_Is only a shell, a husk of meaning  
><em>_From which the purpose breaks only when it is fulfilled  
><em>_If at all. Either you had no purpose__Or the purpose is beyond the end you figured  
><em>_And is altered in fulfillment. There are other places  
><em>_Which are also the world's end, some at the sea jaws,  
><em>_Or over a dark lake, in a desert or a city –  
><em>_But this is the nearest, in place and time"  
><em>– T.S. Eliot, "Little Gidding"

I'm dying, that's easy enough to know.

I can't quite feel my right hand anymore, but perversely enough I can feel the three bullet-holes in my chest with every small movement.

That hurts.

I unscrew my leaking eyes and look down. David's corpse is sprawled on the floor, a puddle of cooling blood spreading underneath his head. I feel something like ice crawl up along my legs.

I want this over with.

"It's not done just yet." I know that voice. I can't move, but he walks past me and stands front and center. Him.

"That's right, it's me," the nameless man says.

"Why are you here," I whisper out. It hurts to breathe, it hurts even more to speak.

The man takes off his hat, and puts his hand on my shoulder. It feels warm. "You've got a choice, Charles."

I tilt my head to look at him. He's got a sad smile on his face. His eyes are older than anything I've experienced.

"What," I croak. I can feel the blood soaking my shirt, pinning it to my body. God, it hurts!

The man kneels in front of me, and comes in close. "Charles, you have a choice. You can stay and die, or get up and walk."

No. What? No. I can't move. I'm dead already. I can't stop that. Nothing can. The ice is moving up my legs, and I can't feel anything anymore.

Just let me die. Please, God. I don't deserve to live.

"Nobody does," the man says, "but that didn't stop him."

I failed. I failed everyone who ever trusted in me. Just let me die.

"Charles, you did more than you understand. You do not know who you've saved."

No. No. I failed her. I failed her. The ice is moving up.

"Will you walk, Charles? She's there, but it's longer than you can imagine."

I can't. I can't. I can't. I can't. Leave me. Leave me to die. Please.

The man presses something into my hand. Yomi's beads. I look at him.

"I want to tell you something. A secret." He leans in close and stares into my eyes. "_She never stopped loving you._"

I.

Tears.

I can't stop the tears.

Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus, I'm sorry Yomi. I'm so sorry. Why? Would would you keep loving someone so broken?

"Because she saw what you were when whole," he says.

The ice is past my belt.

"Charles, you have to hurry. If you want to live, you have to start walking."

But it's too far. It's too far for me.

"She's there, Charles. You can see her again. But you need to get up and walk."

It would be easy to stay here. Easy to stay here and die. But if I could see her? If I could speak to her again?

Slow. Slowly, so slowly, I move my arms to the chair, and push. It hurts, more than anything I could think of. The ice is burning through my bones.

But I stand. The man is smiling. "Just walk," he says.

All of my strength takes me one step, but the ice cracks. Another, and shards fall from my body. It still hurts, but I can do it. Some more steps, and I realize I'm free. I walk. I walk to see her again.

And in the distance, far further than anything I can imagine, I hear them. Trumpets.


End file.
